#and how they never got any business because they were so ridiculously overpriced. any money they got was spent on machinery they never used

[swagging-back-to]

i think the biggest motivator for people learning to draw is the outrageous prices for some art pieces. do NOT get me wrong i am 110% for artists profiting from their art and i understand the time and energy put into professional pieces...

but asking random tumblrinas to pay thousands of dollars on digital art of a woman standing in a field------------------ you aint gonna get any business, im sorry.

[ill-be-your-honey-bri]

Call Me

I honestly am not a hundred percent sure where this fic had developed from but I thought it was an interesting plot that could have been manipulated many ways. and of course your girl went put smut mode on this one. 

That being said, the only warnings I have for you is smut, smut, smut, and some more smut. 

Don’t forget to like, repost, comment. You feed back means everything to me and I love seeing what you all like and don't fancy. 

Please enjoy and all my love,

I present to you, Escort Harry.

You were sitting at your dinette on the balcony of your penthouse, exceptionally frustrated. Sipping on your now cold coffee and pulling a cigarette from the gold case that was housing it. You lit the end with the matching gold lighter, slamming it on the table as you inhaled the nicotine to calm your nerves. You expelled the smoke from your lungs with an exaggerated sigh before picking up your phone to re-evaluate the email you just received.

Ms. Y/L/N,

You are cordially invited to the annual Forbes fundraiser for young entrepreneurs, blah blah blah…

Being that you own your own major company that has been featured in Forbes, blah blah blah.

We are expecting your attendance along with your plus one…

A plus one…

Well you are fucked now, aren’t you? You couldn’t remember the last time you had a ‘plus one’. You, this woman, fiercely independent, who built a company from the ground up on your own, and now you are expected to have a date to a fundraiser that you are being forced to go to.

You did the only thing you could think of at that moment.

You pull up Claudia’s number in your contacts, closing your silk robe over your nightgown while you put the phone to your ear and inhale the last puff from your cigarette before stamping it out in the marble ashtray.

The phone rings as you walk through the French doors from your balcony into your dining room, taking the last sip of your coffee before placing your mug on the dark mahogany dining room table.

“Hello, Y/N. To what do I owe the pleasure on this lovely morning at, fuck me, five forty?”

“Thank fucking god you’re awake!”

“Well, I wasn’t but —”

“Did you get that Forbes email too?” You put your phone on speaker while you pulled the email up for the millionth time that morning.

“I did,” Claudia said around a yawn.

“What is this shit with a fucking plus one? When has that ever been a requirement for these things?!”

You could hear her rustling around her bed, “I’m sure some man put it together and wanted to make sure everyone and the pope saw his new arm candy.”

“It’s ridiculous! Some of us don’t have time to have a ‘plus one’!” You sat on your suede sectional, curling your bare feet under your bum. Your long haired black cat jumped up and cuddled into your lap, both melting into comfort.

“I lay claim to Derek, he already said he would go with me.”

You began to stroke your cat’s ear, “Yeah well, you’re fucking Derek, so…”

“I can’t help that your assistant is young and hot, chickee. And so fucking good in bed…” Claudia began to stretch, letting out a moan.

“Thanks for that. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t you have any friends? Second cousins?”

You stopped your petting, your fur baby giving out a little mew in protest, “First of all, ew. No family. Second of all, I don’t have time for friends. I have you because we have worked together for years.” You let out a frustrated sigh and went back to petting the angel on your lap. “What the fuck am I going to do, Claud?”

You could hear Claudia clunking around her kitchen, attempting to make her latte, cursing at her espresso maker. “Why not hire someone?”

You stopped your petting again, Lady getting annoyed and deciding to jump off your lap. “What do you mean, hire someone?”

“You know,” Claudia hissed after burning her tongue on her hot beverage, “like one of those sexy male escorts. You pay them and they are a nice piece of jewelry for the night.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?”

“That old bag that is always at these events, donates a shit ton and then falls asleep halfway through dinner? You know the one.”

You hum in understanding because you do know the one. Her overuse of minks and emeralds at every event, her hackneyed Chanel No. 5. Oh, and her dentures fell into her champagne flute last year. Yeah, that one.

“Do you really think that the strapping young hunk with her is actually her significant other?”

“I thought that it could be her grandson, maybe.”

“Oh hell no! She hired the boy! I hope she got her money’s worth, if you know what I’m saying...”

Claudia began to laugh as you started to make gagging noises. You sat there, thinking of any other option and you really couldn’t think of one.

“Let me do my research and I will email you the links. But babe, relax. We will figure something out, yeah? You can take my little brother if you need to.”

“No offense Claud, but I don’t really want to present to an event with a 17 year old and be labeled a pedophile… Thank you for helping me, truly.”

“Any time, sweets. Now go mastuarbate before you get ready for work. Got a big meeting today and need you to be calm and relaxed for it.”

“Jesus, Claud!”

“See you soon!” Claudia blowing you a kiss over the line before she hangs up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You walked into your office with your go to Starbucks order in hand. Derek was sitting on the couch that was off to the side of your office, set up as a little meeting area with a set of armchairs and a coffee table in the center. Derek was sipping on his green smoothie and setting up your agenda for the day.

“I don’t know how you drink that shit. You’re basically grazing in the pasture,” as you take another sip of your overpriced corporate beverage.

“It is an energy boosting smoothie, thank you very much. It’s from the local smoothie place around the corner, it’s family owned.”

“Well good for you bud, but for me, it is about convenience and there are at least 50 Starbucks stores from home to here. A beautiful marketing plan if you ask me.” You smiled before taking another sip then placing it in its rightful place on your desk as you sit to turn on your computer and start your day. Derek stands up and places your daily planner in front of you.

“You have that big meeting today with the business partners. Claudia said she will be here in half an hour to help prep. And I have a list of escort services for you.” He had a folder in hand extended towards you.

You peered up at him, “Fucking Claudia.”

He began to smile and give a light chuckle, “Fucking Claudia. She never knows when to keep her mouth shut. There are a few men she had picked out as well, said she ‘knows what you like’. She will email you the links to their profiles.”

And sure enough, you get an email from her with an eggplant emoji as the subject of the email. You quickly exit the email, pulling up the documents you need for the meeting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After getting home from dealing with arrogant, self centered pricks in meetings all day, you knew you needed to treat yourself to a relaxing bubble bath.

You ignored dinner, going straight to your wine rack and grabbed the first bottle handy. You filled the glass and began sipping at the sweet nectar as you were walking to the master bedroom. You padded your way to the en-suite to begin filling the claw foot bathtub. You added some vanilla rose bath melts and let the aroma fill your lungs before returning back to your bedroom.

You step into your walk-in closest to begin undressing, putting your jewelry in their rightful place and hanging the garments that need to go to the dry cleaners. After stripping, you throw on your silk robe and pull your hair up before walking back to the bathroom. You grab your phone and wine along the way, finding your ‘bubble bath’ playlist, which you connected to the Bluetooth that you had installed in your bathroom.

You put your wine and phone on the shelf next to the tub and hung the silk robe before melting into the warm embrace of the milky water. Lady had hopped up onto the counter to keep you company.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and lean your head on to the bath pillow before slowly exhaling the air from your lips. You were finally starting to relax when the incessant thought about the fundraiser reared it’s nasty head at the forefront of your mind.

You look to Lady, who is curled up on the sink counter, the sound of Ol’ Blue Eyes lulling her to sleep. You take another deep breath before grabbing your phone and opening up that email.

Reinhardt, Claudia

Subject: 🍆

So, this company seems the most legit and had the best reviews on multiple sites. Overall, had the best looking dudes too. I picked out a few that I thought that you would like, you know, best friends and all. I will only be slightly offended if you don’t pick one of my gentleman callers.

Good luck chickee! xo

You took another sip of wine before opening the links to these ‘gentleman callers’ pages.

Travis; he was cute in a ‘use to be a skater’ kind of way. Had some muscle, a decent smile. Age, 26. Perfect. Height, 5’3”. Well, that won’t work. You close out his link and go to the next one.

Bret; could be a model with the blue eyes, black hair look and a jaw that could cut glass. You sit up slightly, scrolling down further into his profile. Age; 19. Fuck no. You quickly close the link and go to the next one.

You go through a few more and you begin to feel hopeless. They were all good looking but none of them sparked the desire to take them to an event where you will be spending endless hours with them.

You were officially going to give up until you saw that there was only one link left.

Harry; this guy can’t be real. Beautiful green eyes, silky curly hair, a really cute smile with dimples. The perfect amount of muscle. You held your breath as you continued to read his profile.

Age; 24. You could handle that.

Height; 6 foot. Perfect.

Reason why you joined this company; Honestly, I’m getting my masters in business at Columbia University. A scholarship and work study can only pay so much of the tuition. So he is smart and can talk about business if needed.

What can you bring to the table for your date; I’m personable and will make friends with anyone in a room. I’m the perfect date for a work related event because I can talk about anything. If you chose me, I promise, you won’t regret it.

You took the last bit of your wine as your finger hovered over the message icon. “I better not regret this…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry just got home to his rundown studio apartment from his day working in the college library. He threw his backpack on his mismatching dining set before striding into the kitchen to heat up leftover Chinese. He threw the container into the microwave and began to strip on his way to his bed. He pulled on a pair of old grey sweatpants and went back into the kitchen to retrieve his food and a beer.

He climbed into his bed and turned on the TV, throwing on Family Guy before digging into his food. He got up at one point to get his phone that he left in his jacket, where he couldn’t remember where he threw it.

After finding it, he climbs back into bed and continues to stuff his cheeks with lo mein. He unlocks his phone to see he has some texts, a few emails, a bunch of messages on his Tinder app that he has been ignoring and a new message on his work email. Not the library job, but the job that no one knows about.

He gets emails regularly on his work email. Usually older women who want to make a statement at an event. Like “I’m still young. Look at the young man with me.” He doesn’t mind it because they pay a shit ton for him to just sit there and look pretty, but it gets boring. He would rather work overnight at the library and he is pretty sure it is haunted.

He opens the message and he sees your name. He drops his Chinese container into his lap, cursing at the grease stains that are now on his sweats.

He knows you. He knows you very well. He has written multiple research papers on your work, how you built a company on your own. He’s even rubbed one out to you a few times because your so fucking beautiful and unbelievebly smart.

Harry,

I apologize for how this message reads; I have never done such a thing before.

I have an event for a Forbes fundraiser and we are required to bring a plus one. Unfortunately, I do not have one and need to go to such lengths as to hiring one.

I have read your profile, multiple times if we are being honest, and I feel that you are best suited for the situation.

If you accept my offer, I will pay you handsomely and will schedule you with my tailor to get a suit for the event. Anything involved will be taken care of by me, you will just need to present by my side.

Please let me know if you accept my offer in a timely fashion.

All the best, Y/N Y/L/N

Harry’s mouth was gaping like a fish. You, you, need a date to an event and you asked him. He must be dreaming. He rereads the email a million times and tries to compose himself enough to respond.

Ms. Y/L/N,

It would be an honor to be by your side. Please let me know where I need to be and when and I promise, I will not let you down.

Harry

A few moments after sending the email he got notifications of events being added to his calendar. The first thing was his appointment with your tailor tomorrow morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry was standing outside the tailor’s shop, being a few minutes early and the door was locked. He could hear the clicking of heels and heard a familiar voice. You had presented at Colombia for seminars multiple times, considering it was your Alma Mater. He knew that voice because he attended every seminar that you were a speaker at.

You had your phone in one hand with your designer purse in the crook of the arm that was holding your phone. You had a tray with a few coffees in the other hand. He thought you looked powerful and beautiful in your burgundy blazer with a black tank top tucked into your houndstooth black and white trousers. A gold Gucci belt pulling the whole look together.

You smiled at him as you told whomever you were talking to that you had to go and that you will call them back. He about melted into a puddle when he heard you call his name.

He nodded with a smile while you put your phone in your purse and coordinated the drinks so that you were able to extend a hand to shake Harry’s. Your hand was so soft, he never wanted to let go.

“Thank you for being able to do this so quickly. The event is this weekend and I wanted to make sure that your suit was done in time.” You were smiling at him the whole time, like you have been friends for a lifetime.

“It’s no problem at all.” He smiled back as you took in a good look at him, seeming to be pleased with your choice. He unconsciously stood up straighter and clasped his hands behind his back as you turned to press the buzzer of the store front.

The door unlocked and he quickly grabbed the door to allow you to walk in first, as you gave your thanks. You strutted in like you owned the place and Harry could feel his cock twitch in his jeans watching you own the room.

A beautiful person was standing there waiting for you with gorgeous red flowing hair. They looked angelic with their light and soft features.

“Harris darling, this is Harry. You will be working with him on finding the perfect suit and tailoring it like the artist you are.” You sat on the white sofa, handing out coffees to the people around you, including Harry.

“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee, so I got it black but I have cream and sugar if you need it.” You pulled out the little paper bag the cafe had given you with the coffee fixings from your purse.

“Black is perfect, thank you.”

You smiled up at him as you handed him his coffee, he gladly took a seat next to you as Harris handed the two of you their portfolio.

“These are what I have in the shop now and the fabrics in the back are what I have at home, if you would prefer one of those.”

Harry scooted a little closer to get a better look that you quickly took notice of, so you moved so that the portfolio sat on both of your laps while your thighs touched. Harry’s breath hitched when he felt the contact but quickly brushed it off to continue looking at the beautiful suits.

“Is my dress done by chance? I would love to do the final fitting today as well.”

“Of course. I also have a few ideas of suits for you Harry that would go with the dress. Not so matchy-matchy, but to make sure you don’t clash.”

“Let’s try those, hm?” You looked at Harry with a sweet smile. All he could do was gaulp and nod.

You put the portfolio on the table in front of you before taking your blazer off and laying it delicately on the arm of the couch. You stood up and began to wander around, looking at Harris’ fall collection.

“I can’t wait to see these on the models. Absolutely stunning, Harris.”

“Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, my love.” You smiled as you continued to explore.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were so ethereal in your movements, so effortless. You seemed so gentle and he has only been around you for a few moments. He has always known you as a strong willed, fierce, badass woman. But now, he sees you as delicate porcelain. Not in a way that you could easily be broken, he doesn’t think that could ever be the case. But in the way that you need to be taken care of and adored fondly.

Harry was pulled out of his trance when Harris returned with an armful of suits, calling Harry to the dressing room. Harris helped him with trying them on, all of them being breathtaking.

You had gone into your dressing room with Harris’ assistant helping you put on your gown. You were never one for flash at events, so you asked for a simple black gown with some red detailing, red being your power color. You wore red lipstick or a red pair of heels to every event, so people would be expecting it.

You had walked out as did Harry and he was frozen. The black gown had off the shoulder straps and a sweetheart neckline, showing off your silky decolletage. It had a hip-high slit on your left leg showing off the delicious meat of your thigh, your heels making your legs look even longer. It was form fitting around the torso and hips with the fabric draping beautifully around you, cascading softly around your feet. The bottom of the gown and around the bust was detailed with delicate red stitching, creating a floral design.

And you couldn’t take your eyes off Harry. His suit was the same blood red as your stitching. The floral details of his suit were stitched in black and he had a black button up underneath with the top few buttons undone. Harris had already pinned the suit so it fit him perfectly. His thighs looked strong and thick, his shoulders broad. He was exceptionally handsome.

Harris squealed with how amazing you both looked and you matched without it being obnoxious. Harris walked you to the platform so he could do his final fitting on you. You and Harry couldn’t stop looking at each other in the mirror, the eye contact being strong and unwavering. The only thing that pulled you out of your trance was when Harris called your name to tell you he was done with you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After getting back into your work clothes, you kissed Harris goodbye and Harry shook their hand. You told Harris that Derek will pick up the garments Saturday morning before the event.

Harry held the door open for you and let you walk on to the sidewalk first. You started pulling out your phone to check it, quickly turning off the screen before looking up at Harry.

“Do you need a ride? I walked here from my office but it isn’t far, I can drop you off.” You stood there waiting for a response and he was taking too long for your taste.

“Well come on then, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.” You started walking with a purpose, pulling out your phone again to give Derek a heads up of your plans. Harry quickly jogged to catch up with you.

“Thank you. Um, could you drop me off at campus?” You looked back up and smiled with a nod.

“Of course.”

When you got to the parking garage, you hit your key fob to unlock your car. You had a nice black Audi that you gracefully climbed into. Harry was treating it like a work of fragile art, not wanting to touch anything. You noticed that he was admiring your car, causing you to smile. “Are you a car kind of guy?”

“Um, yeah. I suppose. I know a pretty car when I see one.”

This caused you to giggle. “I may have another event for you then. One of my colleagues has vintage cars that he submits to a car show, he asks me to go every year. Maybe I’ll go if I have you by my side.”

Harry beamed at the idea, “I would like that.”

“It’s in the Hamptons so I would have to steal you for a couple of days. I have a beach house there. That’s if you don’t mind, of course.”

Harry had the opportunity to go to the Hamptons to spend a couple of days with you? How could he say no to that fantasy.

“That sounds great, just tell me when and I’m there.”

You started your drive to Colombia’s campus when you felt the need to talk about the one factor of this you had yet to approach.

“How would you like me to pay you? I can write a check or direct deposit if you would like.” You give a quick glance over to him while at a red light and you see him adjusting in his seat.

“Um, whatever is easier for you.”

“I think it will be more discreet if I direct deposit. I will give you my number and you can text me your bank information. I will be sure to delete it and would never do anything other than deposit money to you.”

He nodded in agreement, not that he was worried that you would take money from him. Not that he had a whole lot of money to his name.

You pulled up next to the campus and asked Harry for his phone to put in your number. “Whenever you get the chance, text me the information.”

“I will, thanks.” He stepped out of the car, slung his backpack over his shoulder and began to walk to campus.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry got home and relaxed for a bit, wrapping his head around the day. He got fitted for a gorgeous designer suit, rode in an Audi, and got invited for a long weekend in the Hamptons, all by the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

He finally sat up and began to dig through his piles of papers on his counter to find his bank information. He quickly texted it to you, double checking the numbers were typed out correctly. He set the phone down and went to hop into the shower.

When he stepped out with a towel around his waist and another in hand roughly drying his hair, he picked up his phone and saw a notification from his bank.

Direct deposit of $5,000.

He stared at the screen for an undetermined amount of time before going to his contacts and calling you.

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

“That is way too much, you don’t have to do that, please just —”

“Harry, it is my money and I do as I please. You are doing me a huge favor and you will be with me for a full evening. Plus, you have to deal with a bunch of assholes, it’s the least I can do. Now, don’t ever question my decisions again, okay? My assistant will drop off your suit on Saturday morning. Please text me your address so he can do so. Have a good rest of your day.”

The line went dead, Harry was still in shock. He has never seen four digits in his bank account before and it happened in the blink of an eye. He decided to text you his address and asked no more questions.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry was pulling on the perfectly tailored suit jacket and ran his hand through his hair one last time before spritzing on his cologne when there was a knock on his door. He walked over to open it, seeing a man in a black suit that he has never seen before. The man gave Harry a nod and he began to walk to the stairs. Harry quickly grabbed his keys and phone before following the unnamed, eerily quiet man.

When Harry reached outside, there was a black SUV with dark tinted windows. The uncanny man opened the back door, exposing you looking down at your phone. Harry gasped when you looked up at him, lips painted red, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“Well, don’t you look handsome.” You scooted over so Harry could climb in. He honestly couldn’t help himself, but he had to stare at you. You had your legs crossed, left leg over your right, exposing the full skin of both of your legs due to the slit on the left side. His mouth began to water looking at the soft glow of your legs.

“So, I apologize in advance if some wives try to take you home with them tonight. Those old hags probably haven’t been screwed properly in ages since their husbands waste their viagra on some girls who want their money.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at you with a smile growing across his lips, “Why do I feel like you're not kidding?”

“Oh,” you let out a scoffed laugh, “because I’m not.” You look back up from your phone to gaze at Harry, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” You send him a wink, causing him to blush.

He beams back at you, “My hero.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As you enter through the doors of the banquet hall, arm laced through Harry’s, you begin to get the urge for a cigarette.

You see previous partners to your company; ones that moved on to bigger and better things, others who screwed you over and you cut ties with. You see the old men that hit on you and the wives that stare daggers into you. They all told you that you weren’t going to make it and you proved them all wrong. Though some think you did it with a little help from what is between your legs or your harlot red lips.

You really need a cigarette.

You see Claudia standing across the way, holding out two champagne flutes for the both of you. You gently tug Harry with you, taking in how he is observing the room. He has an air of professionalism to him that can only come naturally; he’ll be a great business man.

“Knew you would pick this one! Had to save the best for last.” Claudia handed you both your bubbling spirit and put her hand out for Harry to shake, introducing herself and Derek.

“I need a cigarette and a stronger drink than this to get through the night.” You quickly downed the liquid, placing the glass on a nearby table, excusing yourself to the terrace.

Harry followed you out a few moments later, holding a rocks glass out to you. You smiled up at him reaching for the glass and taking a sip before handing it back to him so you could take a long drag. “Thank you.”

He leaned over the banister of the terrace to look out over the city, taking his own sip where your red lips had left their stain. You found it slightly erotic how he licked his lips after touching your mark, as if he had decided to take his sip at that specific part of the glass on purpose.

“So tell me, shall I be talking you up in there? Should be easy for me.”

You reach for the glass he is rolling between his fingers, taking another sip, “And why is that?”

He took the cigarette from between your fingers, admiring the vibrant stain before placing it between his own lips, slightly squinting his eyes as he took a drag. “I’m quite infatuated with you. I’ve followed your work from the start, wrote some papers on your business plans.”

You raised an eyebrow and watched him, studying his features that softened as the left side of his lip began to upturn, indenting his cheek to an adorable dimple. “To be completely honest? I started to follow you because I was terribly attracted to you. I saw you on the front of a magazine and…” he pursed his lips out with a smirk before he chuckled at himself. He looked up at you with his boyish charm before he stood back up and took his drink from you again.

“Oh, Harry, thought about me when you were lonely?” You gave him a false pout that grew into a smile.

He finished his drink before looking back at you, “Still do.” His smile and eye contact were never wavering as he stamped out your cigarette for you and took your hand to return inside.

Harry guided you to your table, hand on your lower back before pulling out your chair for you. He sat to the left of you next to another gentleman, who you had no idea what his business was. His wife was glaring at you as Harry was talking to the man, though the man was more focused on the cleavage exposed by your dress. Harry reached his hand to you, gripping onto the skin of your exposed thigh.

You could audibly hear the man whimper and his wife scoff as Harry’s thumb began to caress your skin. You could see Claudia’s smile grow as she takes a sip of her drink, watching Harry become possessive of you before her eyes. Derek caught her attention by kissing her cheek as the head speaker began his announcement for awards and donations.

As the night came to an end, you were thankful to have Harry at your side. He was holding his own, taking to other businessmen as if he had been conversing with them his whole life. He was able to talk business plans, discuss what he was currently learning in classes, he even gave a few men advice on future endeavors. To be completely honest, you were aroused by the power Harry held as he was working the room.

Harry had his arm wrapped around your waist as you walked to your awaiting SUV, holding your hand as you climbed in and he followed suit. You let out a content sigh, enjoying the silence in the car.

Harry reached across you, grabbing the back of your knee to pull both legs to rest on his lap. He gently unclasped the buckle of your heel, slowly removing it before placing it on the floor by his feet. He did the same with your other foot and began to rub his thumb up the arches.

You let out a satisfied hum at the pressure soothing your aching feet, resting your head on the window as you watched Harry focused on his work in hand.

“You did amazing tonight, Harry. Thank you.”

He looked up at you with his dimples on display, making the tightness you have felt in your stomach all night constrict even more. He looked proud, as he should.

“It was a lot of fun. Learned a lot.”

You smiled back at him, slowly blinking your eyes closed. “That old colleague I was telling you about with the vintage car show, Jack, he asked if we would like to go. It’s in six weeks if you are interested.”

“I’d love to.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the six weeks since the fundraising event, Harry had joined you on multiple smaller level events, including some work dinners and client matters.

His closest had grown exponentially in the six weeks, whether it was a suit for an event that you had purchased for him or he had found something designer he liked and he bought it with the money from his ever growing bank account, thanks to you. He has found pleasure in Gucci, also thanks to you. He has found that the luxuries he now has in his life was all in your taste, subconsciously wanting to please you.

You would comment on his attire he has purchased without your assistance, always beaming when you talk about what line it was from and how well it suited Harry. He loves the feelings he gets when you praise him.

He was packing his bag for the weekend trip to the Hamptons, having just gone shopping for some outfits for the occasion. He had also bought some things to spruce up his studio apartment, making it look more put together and modern rather than a frat boy's bedroom. Your taste even makes its appearance in his decor.

You had knocked on his door, waiting with coffee in hand for the both of you. He opened the door with a wide smile before allowing you to enter the apartment. He had his clothes neatly folded on the bed, waiting to be placed into the leather duffle bag you got him for the occasion, another ‘thank you’ on your part.

You sat on his bed, sipping your coffee while watching him put his toiletries in the matching leather shaving bag, which was also a praise gift. He was dressed in grey sweat shorts and a simple black T-shirt with his short locks held out of his face by a red bandana. He was still barefoot walking around while he was finishing up.

“Do you have the word ‘big’ tattooed on your toe?” Your ever present smile grew as you leaned closer to get a look.

Harry chuckled, scratching his jaw “I may have been drunk and did it myself.”

You shook your head with a giggle of your own before taking another sip of your coffee, leaning back in Harry’s bed.

Harry was trying to will away the semi he was sporting. He had never seen you in lounge clothes and the black leggings you were wearing were doing crazy things to Harry’s body. You were wearing your Columbia Alumni shirt, tied in a knot at the waist to show off the curves of your hips that the leggings were hugging. Your hair was up messily, making Harry want to pull it down from its restraint so that he could muss it up with his own fingers. Your Clubmaster Ray-Bans sat on top of your head and your skin looked fresh and dewy with no makeup on.

Harry took a moment in his kitchen when he was getting his hydro flask to take a breath and squeeze himself through his shorts to take away some of the ache. He’s not sure how he is going to handle a whole weekend if this is what it will be like.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You stopped at a local gas station before leaving the city. Harry offered to fill your tank while you went into the shop to get some snacks for the trip, getting your essential Swedish Fish and Redbull while Harry asked for gummy bears and orange juice.

Harry was already sitting in the passenger seat when you returned, him now having his Wayfarer Ray-Bans on; he only bought them when you said he would look good in them. He was playing on his phone and perked up when you slid in the drivers side.

You handed him his goodies while you promptly opened your bag of candy to set between your thighs and cracked open your can of liquid energy. You began your hour and a half drive to your beach house in the Hamptons. You had your favorite Spotify playlist playing through your speakers, both of you humming along.

“Want some?” Harry looked up at you confused as to what you were talking about. You smiled as you glanced over before returning your gaze to the road. “Some fishies, help yourself.” You nodded down to the bag between your thighs as you took another sip of your drink.

“Thanks.” Harry reached over, dipping his hand between your thighs that you involuntarily widened when his hand approached. He looked up at your face when he slowly dipped his fingers into the bag to grip a few red fish, reaching for the few that were closest to the apex of your thighs. He could feel your heat at his knuckles as he pulled a few gummies out, sticking his tongue out as the candy approached his lips.

You adjusted in your seat, shocked that you were turned on by a man grabbing and eating a candy. Then again, it was Harry. He has been torturing you with his good looks since you clicked on his link.

The ride was uneventful for the rest of the time, Harry watching as expensive homes, luxurious boutiques and restaurants whiz by as you enter the Hamptons and make your way toward the beach.

You pulled up to your beach house, clicking the garage door button on your phone before parking. You grab your trash and put them in the appropriate receptacles that you keep in your garage. Harry was already grabbing your bags out of the car, allowing you to unlock the door freely. You held it open for Harry, stepping into your small mud room, both kicking off your shoes before walking further into the home.

The first view Harry had was of the beach through the windows that filled the wall of your dining room. He walks past the open concept kitchen to go straight to the windows, watching the waves crash on the shore. You open the french doors that lead to your back porch that has stairs that lead down to the sandy beach. You let some fresh air waft in as you go to the kitchen to take stock of what you need to go shopping for.

Harry was still standing at the window with both your bags in hand before you went over to rub his back and grab your bag.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room.” You guide Harry past your open living room to the stairs, leading him up and to the right. “This will be your room. You’ll have your own bathroom and there should be fresh towels in there for you. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything. I’m going to hop in the shower.”

Harry watched as you walked away, seeing you pull off your T-shirt as you were shutting your bedroom door, briefly exposing your black bralette. Harry ran his hand down his face, feeling the pulse return to his groin. He quickly shut and locked the door before situating himself on his bed, promptly pushing his shorts and briefs down his thighs, reaching for the high end lotion you placed by the bed for guests.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry had taken his own shower after relieving himself after he made a proper mess on his thighs and hand. He climbed down the stairs to the smell of curry and Elton John playing through the speakers.

“Figured we should eat a proper meal since we haven’t yet today, so I ordered some Thai.”

You both sat on your back porch, enjoying the view as you ate your take out. You chatted about the next day, telling Harry about the car show and what to expect when it comes to Jack.

“He's like that eccentric drunk uncle at the Christmas party that you love but don’t want to deal with.”

You enjoyed each other’s company, watching the sun start to set on the horizon before calling it a night and turning in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

After waking up from a restful sleep, Harry got dressed in his running shorts and hoodie, throwing on his running shoes before walking to your room to let you know he was going to go for a run along the beach.

Your door was cracked open slightly, Harry able to see you laying on your bed. He stepped closer to the door, about to push the door open further when he heard an ever present whimper. He wasn’t sure if the noise was due to your sleep, but his question was answered when he looked at you in your detail.

Your legs were spread open, two fingers deep to the knuckle as you were laid open on your comforter. You were pumping into yourself as you had your other hand up under your sleep shirt, groping your breast and rolling your nipple between your fingers.

Harry thought he was dreaming, seeing the delicious sight in front of him. Harry couldn’t help himself but to dip his hand in his shorts to start palming his hardening member. Your whimpers going straight to his cock, the arch of your spine off your bed making his mouth water.

You looked over at your door, eyes barely open, pausing your movements briefly when you saw Harry in the crack of the door. Your eyes trail to see him pumping his hand in his shorts, thinking that you should give him a good show.

He didn’t notice that you had seen him but he did notice that your legs had spread further as you pulled your glistening fingers out of your core to rub them on your clit, causing you to moan louder. You pulled your shirt up completely to expose yourself fully to Harry, all without him knowing that you were aware of his wandering eyes.

Having him watch you work yourself got you to your brink. Your eyes were glued to his pumping which was now frantic, causing you to lose control, snapping your legs shut around your hand as you came undone. You could hear Harry attempt to muffle his grunt as he made a mess of his shorts, causing a blissful smile to grow across your swollen lips. You gently rolled your fingers around your clit, spreading your legs again for Harry to watch as you ease yourself down from your high.

The next time you looked at your door, Harry was gone.

You got out of bed with an annoyed huff, getting a shower before wrapping yourself in your robe to head downstairs to make coffee and a quick breakfast. You grabbed your plate of eggs and toast with your coffee and cigarettes, stepping out on your back porch to enjoy the air while trying to calm your aggravation.

You don’t know why you are annoyed with Harry not making a move on you while you were self pleasing, but you were. You wanted that to be the moment to break down the walls built by the pure sexual tension between you. You knew he wanted you, he had told you he had touched himself to you, and now, you had seen him touch himself to you. You were on the brink of sinking on your knees and pulling him out to prove how much you wanted him too.

Harry climbed up the stairs, all sweaty from his run as you were finishing up your cigarette. He could sense the irritation coming off of you but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe you had caught him and you weren’t happy about it. He would just die if that was the case. He sat down in the chair that wasn’t taken over by your resting feet. He noticed that you were only picking at your breakfast as he untied his shoes and kicked them off so as to not trail any sand inside. He leaned back in his seat, taking a deep breath before pulling his hoodie off, T-shirt coming off with it.

You couldn’t help your mouth watering seeing him now topless and glistening with sweat, watching his chest rise and fall while trying to catch his breath. You sat up and ripped a piece of toast before popping it in your mouth, now refusing to look at him.

“Have a nice run?” You continued to poke at your eggs, acting like you're eating them but you are just trying to occupy your eyes.

“Yeah, it was nice. Been a while since I ran on a beach.”

You hummed at his response before standing up and grabbing your things. “We will be leaving in an hour, Jack wants us to meet him at the country club before the car show.”

Harry nodded at you but you promptly walked inside, ignoring his reply before dropping your dishes in the sink and going to your room to get ready.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You knew you were being petty. You knew that he couldn’t read your mind but god you wished he could. You were just finishing your hair when you heard a knock on your bedroom door. You walked over to see Harry clad in red and white gingham trousers and a white button up with the sleeves rolled up, just sheer enough to make the outlines of his black ink. His hair was perfectly slicked back with a few curls having some definition to them. He had a look of cowardice as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“Looking handsome, as always.” He gave you a soft smile at the compliment before fully taking you in. You were in a white knee length sundress that had big roses printed on the fabric. Your one shoulder strap annoyingly falling down, which Harry promptly grazed his fingers against your skin to slide the strap into place.

Harry’s gaze raked back up your frame before looking you in your eyes, “You ready?”

You nodded at him, grabbing your Michael Kors wedges off your bed before walking out of your room ahead of Harry. You made your way to the mud room to switch your purses and to sit on the bench to slip on your shoes.

Harry grabbed your shoes for you, kneeling in front of you, gingerly wrapping his fingers around your ankle to slide your foot into the wedge, pulling the zipper up at the heel. He had done the same to your other foot, this time watching you watch him. He gently placed your foot to the floor before standing up straight and putting his hand out for you to help you up before walking to your car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The car ride was silent, omitting the random questions Harry had regarding the country club and Jack. You adjusted your sunglasses after you had parked, reaching into the back seat to grab your bag. You were about to climb out but Harry gripped your wrist, pausing your motions.

“Y/N…” you looked at him as he had reached to push your sunglasses off your face to look you directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry about this morning, when I saw you. I should have left you in private but I just couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you, need to see you like that. If it ruined any type of relationship we may have, I thoroughly apologize. You should know that I never meant to invade your privacy but… fuck, I just can’t help myself with you. My body takes over when it comes to you and I am so sorry. Please, forgive me?”

You sat there in silence, trying not to smile at how cute Harry was. He was giving you the puppy eyes as his thumb ran over your wrist in gentle circles. You were pondering on how you should approach it; Do you tell him it was no problem? Ignore it and act like nothing happened? Or…

“I only got off because I saw you pump your cock watching me.” You leaned over to kiss his cheek before stepping out of the car to the entrance of the country club.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jack loved Harry. They were chatting it up outside, Jack with a cigar in his mouth and Harry with his mimosa in hand. You were ordering you both another one when Jack’s wife, Sharon, approached you at the bar.

“He’s a looker, sweetheart.” You smiled at her before telling her honestly how you met. Jack and Sharon were always supportive of you. You had been Jack’s intern at his company when you were in undergrad, Jack promptly hiring you when you were getting your masters. He taught you everything you knew and Sharon taught you how to enjoy the finer things in life, including Harry.

“Cut the shit with the escort thing and make him your man. He’s a looker, he’s smart. Jack already adores him and is calling him son. You know how hard it is to please that man.”

You looked back to Harry and Jack, both laughing at one of their dad jokes. Harry looked up to see you looking at him, smiling and twiddling his fingers in a wave. He finished his drink, prompting him and Jack to walk back inside to you girls.

Harry had adjusted the strap of your dress that fell down again and you were handing him a new mimosa, sipping out of your own glass. Harry placed his hand on your lower back, watching you as you engage in the conversation Jack and Sharon were having.

An announcement was made that the fairway was now open for guests to look at the cars. Jack quickly downed his drink before exiting like a kid being allowed free range of a candy store. Sharon promptly followed her husband as Harry guided you to follow, grazing his hand down to your bum to give it a soft rub and light tap.

Harry followed Jack around as he was explaining to Harry all the ins and outs of all the vintage cars on show. What gave them value, their rarity, what he likes and dislikes of each car. Sharon and you following behind, enjoying the sun and the wine slushies you had grabbed from a vendor.

Harry took a particular interest in a white 1966 Mercedes-Benz 230SL, stalking around it to take in the details. He smiled to the owner when they came over to talk to Harry, showing the car with the roof down.

“He’s got good taste. He’s enamored by you and the car.” Jack elbowed your shoulder, causing the strap of your dress to fall again. You looked at him as you adjusted the dress with a smile.

“How can you tell?”

“Well, I can tell he loves the car because that’s how he looks at you, doll.”

You look back to Harry, who is now sitting in the driver's seat, running his hands along the steering wheel. Harry shakes hands with the driver before walking back over to you, grabbing your slushie to take a drink himself.

You look up at him, pushing your sunglasses into your hair to take him in fully. “You like?”

Harry put his hand on your hip, taking another sip of the slushie. “She is a beauty. My dad has something similar but not as pristine.” He looked back over his shoulder to look at the car as his hand continued to rub at your hip.

“She is pretty. Looks like a pearl.” You looked over his shoulder with him to take her in.

Harry kissed the top of your head, handing back your drink before going to follow Jack and Sharon as you sneak off to talk to the owner.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You enjoyed your dinner with Jack and Sharon, catching up on your businesses as well as discussed Harry’s future plans. Jack had offered Harry an intern position at his company if Harry was interested.

Jack and Sharon wished you and Harry a good night before you went your separate ways to your cars. Sharon gave you an extra squeeze and told you to “be nice to that boy”, sending you a wink.

You climb into your car to see Harry beaming. “I think they liked me.”

You smiled back at him, “I know they like you. Wouldn't stop coming up to me to tell me how i should keep you around.”

Harry was leaning his head on the headrest to look at you, “Do you want to keep me around?”

“Should I keep you around?” You started your car and began to drive away, Harry still watching your every move. You could see him in the corner of your eye, both of your smiles growing. His hand made its way to your thigh, pushing your skirt up so that his hand could rest on your bare skin. You hummed at the warmth of his palm.

“So you liked when I was watching you?” His hand began to slide further up your dress and your legs had spread further for him, as they tend to do more frequently than not as of late.

“I loved it.”

He hummed at your response, “Do you like being caught? Dirty girl.”

You moaned and moved your left leg so Harry could touch every inch of you, you lifted the skirt of your dress to expose your lace covered core to Harry.

“Want me to finger fuck you here, dirty girl? Right in your car, while you're driving? You’re fucking filthy.”

He started to run his fingers through your folds and you tried your hardest to focus on the road. You weren’t far from your home at this point, trying to stay safe while focusing on Harry’s delicious fingers learning the dips and curves of your core.

“Should I wait to fuck you properly when we get home? Been thinking about it all day.” He unbuckled his seatbelt to get closer to you to nose at your neck. He started to dip his fingers into you as he was kissing any exposed skin.

You finally made it home, abruptly parking your car in the driveway. You undid your seatbelt, promptly taking Harry’s hand that was between your legs to plunge his fingers deeper into you. Your head tipped back as Harry’s fingers hit your favorite spot. Harry quickly made the come hither motion, rubbing his fingertips where you needed him.

“God baby… you’re my dirty girl, huh? Fucking yourself with my fingers.” Your grip tightened around his wrist as he nipped at your jaw. Your thighs began to tighten around Harry’s hand which caused him to remove himself from you. You let out a whine at the empty feeling and the pure desire that was burning in you.

You turn to Harry with lust filled eyes to see him shamelessly suck on each finger that was buried in you individually. “Going to give me a proper taste later. Aren’t you, sweet girl?”

Harry had climbed out of the car, grabbing the keys from you to unlock the door. He began to unbutton his shirt in the mud room as he was kicking off his shoes, you watched with a panting breath, still in the front seat of your car. Harry tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers, bare chested, and gave you a nod to follow him inside.

When you finally entered your house, Harry was in the kitchen with his head in the refrigerator. He pulled out the container of strawberries and slid them onto the island. He closed the door before turning to lean on the island, popping the container open with a flick of his finger. He grazed the tips of his fingers across each strawberry, deciding which one was the juiciest berry.

“Go get in your shower. I will be there in a moment.” He gripped the stem of the red fruit, tongue grazing it’s flesh before he sunk his teeth in. He made sure to look at you as he licked his lips free of the sweet juice.

You thought that two could play at this game, standing in place as you unzipped your dress and letting it fall freely around your ankles, exposing you in your strapless bra and panties with your wedges still on before climbing up the stairs. Harry stood up straight as you began to walk away.

You quickly undressed as you started your shower, getting under the warm stream while patiently waiting. The anticipation was killing you. It felt like you had been standing under the running water for hours with Harry nowhere to be found. You decided that you would actually start your shower routine.

You were facing the water, rinsing off your face free of makeup and face wash when you felt Harry’s grip on the back of your neck. He pressed his body close to yours so that you could feel his erection on your bum and so that his mouth had access to your ear.

“What am I to do with you, filthy girl? Spent months thinking of you with your legs spread open, just for me and then you have to go and fuck yourself with not only your fingers, but mine as well.”

He used his left hand to guide yours to the wall for support while his right hand trailed down your body, immediately finding purchase between your legs. His middle finger was quick with making circles around your sensitive nub while he laced his fingers with yours against the wall.

“Dreamt about touching you,” his fingers dipped lower, grazing your glistening entrance. “Tasting you,” he began to pepper kisses along your shoulder. “Fucking you.” He thrusted his hips behind you, his hard on grazing perfectly between your cheeks.

“I’ve wanted to for so long my sweet girl, just know that it’s because I want this, not because of the job. Fuck the job honestly. I just want you, all of you.”

He gave a gentle push to your upper spine to have you lean over slightly as he grips his member, swiftly sliding himself into you and quickly gaining a rhythm with his thrusts. He was quick but not deep, causing you to press your cheek to the cold time for support. His thrusts became deeper and rougher, causing your gentle whimpers to become moans that bounced against the tiles.

Harry gripped your thigh, pulling it to spread you open further while he guided you to rest your foot on the bench of the shower. His moans were muffled by your shoulder that would have his mark by the end of this. Harry’s hand continued to rub circles on your clit, making your legs tremble and for your to lean back upright into Harry.

“Feel good baby? Fuck, you’re such a good girl taking me. Feel so fucking good.”

You could feel his hips stutter against you, causing him to roll his hips slowly into you. You let out a moan and grip the wrist of his hand that is making work on your mound.

“Mmm you like that? Going to cum for me, sweet girl? Let me feel you.” His fingers started to move in rapid figure eights, causing your leg that was propped up to quickly fall and close Harry’s hand between your thighs. The new tightness of your core with your legs closed caused Harry to moan out and still within you, feeling your orgasm throb around him.

He began to kiss down your spine so he could be on his knees. He gently gripped your hip to turn you around so you could finally face him. He looked beautiful.

As he was kissing your lower belly, you took in his wet hair slicked back, his cheeks and chest flush from orgasm, his lips red and swollen. He used both hands to spread your thighs open so that he could see his cum drip from your core. He looked up at you in awe before quickly running his finger through your folds, catching both his and your arousal. He extended his hand up to you, telling you to ‘open’ before he popped his slick finger between your lips. He let you suck his finger to your desire as he dipped his tongue between your folds, moaning at the taste of your mixture.

Harry had stood up and held your jaw before leaning in for your first kiss. He was gentle, holding both sides of your jaw as his tongue grazed your lip to allow him to taste all of you. He pressed you gently against the cool wall as he continued to kiss you breathless before pulling away and grabbing the shampoo to wash your hair for you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been a few weeks and you had finally received the call telling you that you could pick up a gift that you had purchased for Harry. You had bought it prior to him giving you the good news that he had accepted the internship with Jack, but he doesn’t need to know that.

You called him and told him that you were on your way to pick him up with the plan to go for a celebratory dinner. You texted him when you were out front, climbing out of Harry’s gift to lean on the passenger door to await his arrival.

When he walked out, you beamed at how handsome he looked with chartreuse wide legged trousers with a black stripe along the side and a black button up. When he turned to look at you, he was frozen.

The white 1966 Mercedes-Benz 230SL.

You lifted your hands with a ‘surprise’ and a beaming smile. You acted as if you were one of those girls on the Price is Right, explaining all the details, ending with “And she could be all yours Mr. Styles, for the price of a kiss.”

Harry climbed down the front stairs of his apartment building, still in awe of the car but quickly grabbed your face and placed multiple quick kisses to your lips before wrapping his arms around you.

“Sweet girl, you didn’t…”

“You stop. I did and I wanted to, you deserve it. You’ve been working so hard and you got the internship with Jack. We’ll be working together before you know it.”

He looked down at you and gave you a gentle smile before giving you another longer, sweeter kiss. “Shall we go for a ride?” You held the keys up for Harry, who promptly took them before opening the passenger door for you.

Harry drove around the city, following your directions to a more secluded area by a park. The sun was setting as you told Harry to park the car. You looked at him adoringly, your fingers rubbing through his growing locks.

Harry turned to look at you with that all knowing glare, “Did you bring me all the way out here just to screw me, dirty girl?”

You were already climbing across the seat to straddle his lap, unzipping the front of your dress, exposing you had nothing on underneath. You pulled Harry’s head back by tugging at his hair to look up at you. “We need to break her in, don't we?”

Harry groaned before sitting up to give you a searing kiss, his hands trailing over your exposed skin as you were kissing the skin of his jaw and neck. “We could get caught, you know?”

You pulled away, looking down upon him with a devious smirk, you began to undo his belt and zip of his trousers. “Good.”

Harry let out a moan as you dipped his hand in his trousers, pumping him lightly before pulling him out.

“Fucking filthy girl.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry was being added to all the invitations to your work events as if he were a part of you. At this point, he was. Claudia being sure that everyone knew that Harry was an up and coming businessman who was in love with New York’s finest and most beautiful businesswoman.

And everyone adored Harry. How could they not? He was charming, handsome, smart, and an amazing lover. But people didn’t need to know the last part. Well, except maybe Claudia, she was your best friend.

Harry was just as adventurous as you when it came to your intimacy. Always suggesting new things to try, always feeding your hunger. Tonight was no different.

You both had played with the idea of fooling around at a public event but never made any formal agreement. Tonight, you were invited to a gala at the Guggenheim so Harry had used it as an opportunity to fulfill your fantasy.

Harry had stopped by Harris’ to pick up both of your garments and he also stopped at Eve’s Garden on his way to your home. Harry had walked into your penthouse with the garment bags and a little black plastic bag in hand.

You were in your en-suite finishing up your bath, putting lotion on while sitting on the edge of your tub, humming along to Etta James as Lady was curled up on your vanity, licking her paw. She chirped when she saw Harry in the doorway, slinking her way to him for some loving pets.

“Hello, my sweet girls.” You beam up at Harry, rubbing the last of your lotion into your hands before standing up to give Harry a saccharine kiss, also giving Lady a pet. She would never forgive you if you didn’t.

“Thank you for picking up my dress, handsome.”

“Of course, my love. I picked up a little something else.” Harry gave you a small smirk before turning to your room, you follow suit. Harry sat on your bed, patting his lap for you to sit on.

He pulled black bag out from behind him as you sat in his lap. He handed you the bag, undoing your robe to kiss the skin of your collar. You pulled out the vibrant cube box that was nondescript. You rotated it in your hands to try to figure out what it was.

“Open it.” Harry continued to kiss your skin, opening your robe more to expose your chest to him. You opened the box to see a vibrator, a We-Vibe specifically. The box began to vibrate without you touching anything, Harry pulling his lips off your skin to show you that he is controlling it with his phone.

You let out a laugh in disbelief, “Oh, baby.”

Harry smiled at you before getting a good grip of you to lay you on the bed. “I figured we could have a little fun tonight.”

You laid on your back and spread your legs for Harry, who settled on his knees between yours. Harry had pulled the vibrator out of the box, going to the bathroom to sanitize it like the gentleman he is. He made eye contact with you on his way back to you, sucking on the vibrator as he crawled back up the bed.

He shamelessly rolled it against his tongue as his free hand ran up your inner thigh. Harry pulled the vibrator out of his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to spit on the tip of the vibrator before running it through your folds. He gently pushed it into you, watching you as you take a quick inhale.

“You okay, sweet girl?” You gave him a small nod before grabbing his hand to help him adjust it to a more comfortable position within you. Harry rubbed the tops of your thighs before leaning forward to give you a gentle kiss. “Let's get ready, hm?”

You both got up to get ready, you waddling slightly as you walked to your closet, adjusting to exciting new object between your legs. You let out a squeal when you felt it begin to vibrate.

“Just testing it!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was really rough on you, Harry having his phone permanently attached to his hand under the table. You were starting to get sweaty around your hairline and upper lip trying to keep your moans at bay.

You were reapplying your signature lipstick after finishing dinner and Harry took it as an opportune moment to give you a pulsing vibrate, causing you to give a light moan as your mouth was open and your hand holding your mirror fell to the table soundly. Claudia, Derek, Jack, and Sharon all look at you as Harry tries to hold back his smile, clearing his throat and rubbing his two fingers on the tip of his nose.

“Are you alright, chickee?”

You also cleared your throat and nodded as you felt the intensity between your legs increase and the pulsing become more frequent. You closed your eyes and let out a hum, gently rubbing your lips together before suggesting you go to the bathroom, giving Harry’s thigh a squeeze.

You made your way out of the dining area, Harry quick to follow, telling your friends that he was simply checking up on you. You heard the click of his boots on the marbled floor, the vibrations being between your legs making your knees buckle as you feel Harry’s grip on your bicep to pull you in his direction.

He pulled you into a more private area that was closest to where you were, which happened to be a coat closet. He smeared his lips against yours, smudging your scarlet lips. Harry’s hand was quick to run up your skirt to pull the toy from you, promptly placing it between his lips to suck off your juices before sticking it in his inner jacket pocket.

Harry fell to his knees before you, hiking up your skirt around your waist, gripping your hands to guide you to hold the skirt up for him.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight baby.” He was kissing along your thighs, “Stayed nice and quiet for me, though I hate it. Need to hear you scream for me now, darling.” Harry lifted your leg so it rested on his shoulder while his hands pinned you against the wall.

You felt his fingers tighten around your hips as his nose rubbed against your mound, pecking kisses, occasionally giving your skin a soft lick. You moan softly and look down to see Harry already peering up at you through his long lashes. “Going to need you to be louder than that, sweet girl.”

Harry sat up on his hunches to pull himself out of the restraints of his designer trousers. He lifted his palm up to you, “Spit.”

You gladly spit in his palm before he started to stroke himself, letting an unashamed moan out of the back of his throat. “Been so fucking hard for you all night. Was palming myself under the table all through dinner.”

You spread your legs further as Harry scooted closer, returning to giving you gentle kisses to your mound and lips. You could feel his moans against your skin as he was pumping himself and spreading you open with his tongue.

Your head tipped back as Harry began to dip his tongue into you, gently sucking your lips and clit individually into his mouth. You continue to let out tiny mewls, and Harry needed more.

“Louder, dirty girl. I want them to hear you in the dining room.”

“I need you to fuck me if you want me to do that, baby.”

Harry quickly removed your thigh from his shoulder and climbed to his feet. He still had a grip on your thigh, slinging it over his hip so he could simply slide into you, which was easy to do with how slick you had become from Harry’s incessant teasing all night.

You both moaned out at the feeling, finally having you full of him, just what you needed. What you both needed. You let out a loud moan when Harry started thrusting his hips into you, begging for him to go harder as you dug your nails into his suit jacket. You quickly pushed it off of him so that you could get your nails into him properly.

“Fucking hell, my dirty girl really needs me, huh?”

You nodded at him, letting out another moan that caused Harry’s hips to thrust erratically. His hand gripped your ass to pull you closer, his other hand went to your jaw, his thumb running over your ruby lips, smearing the color.

“You look so good when I fuck you baby girl.” You licked his thumb, tasting the remnants of your lipstick. You grind your hips against Harry, egging him on.

“I need you harder.” You begin to lift your other leg to wrap around Harry’s waist, him gripping your thigh and pinning your harder to the wall with his hips. He took your direction and began to thrust into you harder, hips snapping at a feverish pace. The sound of your skin slapping and your strangled moans sent Harry into overdrive, using his pubic mound to grind perfectly into your clit causing you to gush slightly around Harry’s member.

“Fuck, dirty girl. Got you squirting on me.” The look on Harry’s face was a look of awe as well as pained trying to hold back from his own orgasm. Your thighs clamped around his waist as your second wave came over you, constricting Harry causing him to come undone. Harry’s hand flew up to the wall to support the two of you as you slowly came down.

Harry kissed your cheek and jaw mumbling how perfect you are and that he loves you over and over. You grip his jaw as you unhook your ankles to plant yourself to the floor. Kissing him and praising how good he treats you, how much you love him.

“We should probably get back, hm?”

“I think that since we are both a proper mess,” he tried to remove some of your smeared lipstick with no luck, smiling down at you, “we should probably just head home.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So what happened with you and Harry last night?” Claudia had asked you as you were both eating your salads from Derek’s go-to local bistro.

“Hm? Oh, I wasn’t feeling well so he just took me home.”

“Not feeling well as in, ‘tummy not well’, or ‘he fucked you so good in the coat closet that you couldn’t walk’ not well?”

You choked on your salad, taking quick sips from your water to clear your throat.

“He said he wanted everyone to hear you and boy did we!” Claudia began to laugh, taking another bit of food and giving you a cheeky smile as you blushed.

“I wanted to check up on you, as girls do, and the next thing I know, I have my ear pressed up to the coat closet getting turned on by Harry’s dirty talk to you.” She shrugged it off as nothing as you covered your face in embarrassment.

“You told me you both are adventurous but lord have mercy. Getting everyone hot and bothered by it.”

You finally loosened up, giggling slightly as you asked her, “Did you notice how I was off throughout the night?” She nodded as she licked the piece of green hanging out of her mouth to guide it where it belonged.

“Harry got us one of those remote vibrators…”

“Oh my god! He was fucking with you all night?! I would take him in the coat closet too! Fucking hell! That’s so hot though. Was it nice? I mean clearly, but would you do it again?”

As you were about to respond, Jack walked in with Harry beside him. He looked so handsome when dressed in a more casual suit for work. His hair was growing longer and he was too lazy to shave that morning at your place before work, so he had a slight scruff to him.

“To what do we own the pleasure of you fine gentleman?” Harry winked at your cheeky remark.

“Well sweetheart, wanted you to be the first to know. Harry has accepted a position at my company and would like to discuss a business proposition with you.”

You couldn’t help but to jump up to your feet to run over and give him a hug and kiss, doing the same to Jack.

You clear your throat to appear to be more professional, which no one in the room took seriously. “So what is this business proposition that you have for me?”

Harry cleared his throat and you didn’t realize that Derek and Sharon had also made their way into your office. Harry tucked his hands in his pockets, getting a nod of approval from Jack.

“I know that our start was quite unorthodox in nature, being as you had hired me as a date to an event. That being said, I have come to learn a lot more about you than I had when I was just a simple fangirl of yours.”

You giggle at his natural joking nature but know that there is true sentiment to his words.

“I have been utterly in love with you before we even met but being with you and getting to truly know you has cemented my thoughts and feelings for you. I know that we have been official for less than a year but I don’t think I could handle another moment of my life where I can’t say that we will be each other's forever.”

You could hear Claudia and Sharon squeak and gasp as Harry pulls his hands out of his pockets, his left one holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N, my love, my sweet girl. I promise to love you and take care of you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

You were beaming with your eyes brimmed with tears, sniffling with a giggle. “There is only one problem.” Everyone froze in their movements, anticipating what you will say next. “I get to keep taking care of you.”

Harry let out the breath he was holding, “Fair enough.” He reached for your left hand to place the perfect engagement ring on your finger. Standing up to give you the most perfect kiss from the most perfect man. And to think that you had ordered him online.

[lilbabycee]

bunny // steve rogers (part one) 🐰

READ PART TWO

↳ summary: the reader finds herself in a little bit of trouble... financially. enter steve rogers. 

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x brat!reader

↳ word count: 5.6k

↳ warnings: sugar baby au, eventual dark steve, daddy kink, eventual smut, mentions of substance abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms + relationships, the reader is rich and a little bit of a bitch

↳ author’s note: i started writing this series ages ago but i’m thinking that maybe posting it on here will give me the inspiration to continue! please enjoy! ❤️

chapter one: you expensive you know that?

—

" you expensive, you know that?

i'm high-maintenance a little but not in a, not in a negative way

i just like extremely expensive things"

- faithful, drake

—

“But Daddy-!”

“No, absolutely not,” your father shuts you down without hesitation which immediately makes your eyes water.

“Please, I promise I won’t do it again-”

“That’s what you said the last time,” he reminds you nonchalantly and you can hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard in the background of the call. He’s not even paying full attention to you, likely still working on whatever the CEO of a multi- billion dollar corporation needs to work on.

“But I’m serious this time!” you insist, cocking a hip and tapping your acrylics loudly on the top of your marble kitchen counter. “You know what I’m like - I swear I’ll do better this time-”

“Nope,” his hard tone cuts you off as you hear his office phone ring. He sighs loudly over the receiver which makes your heart fall. “Look, honey-”

You know what’s coming and you can’t even try to stop it.

“-I’ve got another call coming in. I’m not sending you another dime until you can prove to me that you have the ability to be financially independent. I didn’t pay for all of those expensive private schools so that you could sit on your ass all day and blow my money like it’s in endless supply. You have all the necessary credentials to go and get a well-paying job, so go get one, goddammit. And please call your mother - she’s been trying to call you all day. Neither of us have any time left to entertain your little addictions nor your blatant disregard for the hard work that we’ve put in to get you where you are today.

“You’ve proven to me before that you are grossly incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks, so don’t let me down with this one,” he sighs loudly. “Sometimes, I wish you were more like my colleagues’ kids - they’re doctors and lawyers but all you are is ungrateful. I’ve really gotta take this call,” he says your name sternly which makes you tap your nails even faster. “Do as you’re told for once in your damn life.”

“Daddy-!” you borderline shriek once more before the phone clicks and he’s off attending to more important business.

You don’t even realize that you’re pouting until your lips start to tremble, nor do you realize how much his words have gotten to you until you touch your cheek gently with your fingertips and they come back wet and glistening like gold in the warm light of day.

Maybe he’s right. You’ve been living in this penthouse for the past year without having to worry about anything. You loved it when you attended the first viewing, mainly because of the huge windows, three bedrooms and bathrooms (that you definitely don’t need because you live alone), the open plan, spacious kitchen and living areas, and the fact that all of your neighbors are either famous or excessively wealthy like you. You saw the acquirement of this apartment as a prime opportunity to further climb the social ladder, not that it’s really all that hard for you considering the fact that your father is one of the richest people in not only New York but the entire country. But you’d lived in Italy for a year prior to moving back to New York and upon your return to the USA, you decided that you really wanted to re-establish a name for yourself here, of course with the help of your father. He bought the penthouse almost the moment that you said you had your eye on it, and he just kind of…left you here. He’s only come to visit a handful of times since you bought it two years ago, though your mother has been over far more frequently to your utter dismay.

You inhale deeply through your nose, your eyelash extensions fluttering dramatically against your cheekbones. Grabbing your phone - the newest iPhone that you bought after you broke your other one at your friend Peter’s party - you sulk over to one of your ridiculously overpriced couches and fall dramatically - but not dramatically enough to crease the material of your latest drunk purchase, a white Gucci jumpsuit - on top of all your throw pillows, the picture of a damsel in distress. Your freshly manicured toes - painted white yesterday - curl into the softness of it as you huff, dabbing delicately at your face again to rid yourself of any traces of sadness before thinking about what the hell you’re going to do next.

Yes, you have a savings account that is far more than enough for you and your grandchildren’s grandchildren to live lavish lives and while that’s all well and good, even you know that you probably shouldn’t spend that... but it’d have to do until you found another way to get your money. With that, you shrug noncommittally and your face ID unlocks your phone so that you can start your newest endeavor - buying one of everything off of Alexander Wang.

Sure, you should be proactive and take initiative to finally take the steps to distance yourself from your parents, but you’ve only just had your twentieth birthday. After graduating from high school at fifteen - yes, fifteen: your parents really pushed you, to say the least, and it helped that you were naturally intelligent beyond the capabilities of even the nation’s best high school teachers -  you started your undergraduate at Harvard in the fall and finished at eighteen. You took what you dubbed an ‘extended summer vacation’ - hence Italy - and now you’re at an impasse.

Okay, admittedly your various interests - you refuse to call them addictions because they’re really not that serious - that may or may not include a wide array of party drugs and alcohol probably don’t make you the most trustworthy person in the eyes of your parents. But you’ve done everything that they’ve told you to do for the past twenty years of your life - can they blame a girl for wanting to have a little fun? A smile spreads across your face as, while scrolling, you spy the blue dad jeans that were completely out of stock just last week and quickly add them to your cart with a sense of self-satisfaction before continuing to add almost everything else to your bag. It’s not like you’re heavily dependent on anything - substance abuse is not a good look for you: it was definitely more early 2000s than now - and you only do them recreationally in social situations, so your parents really have nothing to worry about. They’re overly paranoid about you somehow tarnishing their image when in reality, your work in and outside of an academic setting has really bolstered their reputation more than they could have ever hoped for - not to toot your own metaphorical horn, but your endless philanthropic work coupled with your eagerness to “make a change” and your work in fashion has put you on the Forbes 30 Under 30 every year since you were fifteen.

You press the checkout button and your Apple Pay seamlessly completes the purchase for you: $29,000. Shrugging noncommittally, you lock your phone and stare pensively at the picturesque view of New York City outside of your window; that is until Alexa alerts you that Natasha is calling you.

Perfect timing.

Natasha’s voice echoes over the loudspeakers in the ceiling. “Hey, bunny,” she greets you and you groan loudly at the nickname, restlessly hopping up to grab a glass of water from your kitchen.

“Hey Nat,” you reply, more of a whine than anything else, and she laughs loudly at your tone.

“What happened to you? “

“Daddy cut me off,” you huff, walking to the couches in front of the TV and settling down with your glass of water. With a press of a few buttons on the universal remote, you FaceTime your best friend instead - a flash of red hair and then a blindingly white smile. She assesses you on your couch and laughs again, a full-bodied cackle that only intensifies your pout.

“It’s not funny,” you protest, although the corners of your lips are quirking up in amusement at her ridiculous laughter.

“What did I tell you?” Natasha struggles to get the words out in between chuckles. “I knew he was gonna do this-”

“Yeah, so did I, but I didn’t think he’d do it this soon-!”

“I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner,” Natasha moves around a little before propping her phone up against her knees so that you can see her sitting comfortably in her bed. She starts picking at her own black acrylics, “and you can’t deny, bunny-”

“Don’t say I deserve this,” you narrow your eyes at her, and Natasha only sends you her signature smirk.

“I wouldn’t say you deserve it, per se,” Natasha begins, “but you’ve gotta admit,” she says your name, clearly on the verge of laughter again, “I like a party as much as the next girl, but you do go a little overboard-”

“I wouldn’t say overboard,” you insist, suddenly taking up a very keen interest in your cuticles. “Here’s what it is: Mother doesn’t like the fact that I don’t like her and Daddy’s just flat out disappointed in me for no reason-”

“-apart from the fact that you very nearly got caught doing lines of blow off of Senator Pierce’s son-”

“Shhhh,” you interrupt her, closing your eyes and pressing a finger to your lips while shaking your head, unable to fight the growing grin on your face. “That was one time-”

“You mean the one time you got caught-?”

“Yes, Natasha, that’s what I mean. Anyway - you never call me like this unless you need something - thought you were gonna text me instead. What’s up? Is it Bru-”

“Oh, no,” Natasha quickly cuts you off, her cheeks flushing red. “Bruce and I have been over for a while now-”

“You were just talking about him last week-”

“Yeah, yeah,” she deflects, tapping her fingers on her thigh. “I was actually calling to see if you wanted to go shopping for Parker’s party that’s tonight-?”

“Yes, absolutely yes - why would you even have to ask-?”

“Okay, cool,” she interrupts you, smiling toothily. “Get Jarvis to get you there by 2:30 - I wanna go to the Louis store: the summer collection just dropped-”

“Sounds perfect-”

“But one more thing,” she says your name again but in a more concerned tone. You finish your glass of water and set it on the coffee table before leaning forward slightly.

“What’s going on, Nat?”

“I’m worried about you, bunny,” both her eyes and her tone have softened drastically, making you purse your lips. “What’re you gonna do now that your dad’s not giving you any more money?”

You sigh loudly through your nose, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Nat,” you admit, snapping a hair tie against the skin of your wrist rapidly. “I’ll just have to find a job - or do more sponsorships and ads and get back into modeling and maybe actually try acting this time?”

Her green eyes pin you to your couch, even through the screen, and she scrutinizes your face for almost a full thirty seconds before scrunching up her nose and nodding hesitantly. “Alright. As long as you’re sure that you can make it work… because if not, I have an option that I think you may like…”

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline as you motion for her to continue.

“Y’know how Wanda got really into that thing a couple of years ago?”

Your brain works overtime, trying to remember exactly what it was that Wanda was doing - all you remember is that it was fairly secretive and she didn’t tell you a lot about why she kept sneaking around.

“She was seeing that older guy,” you snap your fingers when you remember, Natasha’s slow nod confirming it, and then promptly frown because-

“What does this have to do with me?” You stare directly into Natasha’s eyes as she falters, obviously wondering if it’s too late to just backtrack altogether - yes, it is - and then she sighs.

“She wasn’t just seeing him,” your best friend starts slowly, choosing her words with great care, “she was his sugar baby.”

Now, this is news to you.

“You’re fucking with me,” you scoff in disbelief. “Wanda?”

Natasha keeps nodding, blowing her bubblegum between her rouge-painted lips until it pops with a sharp snap. “I’m serious, you can go ask her. But believe me, I was just as surprised as you when she first told me-”

“She didn’t tell me,” you murmur, something akin to betrayal burning your tear ducts. Natasha only barks out a laugh and clucks her tongue at you in a decidedly motherly way.

“Of course she didn’t tell you,” the redhead snorts, shaking her head. “She didn’t want you getting any ideas,” she says your name through a laugh, “you were - what - like eighteen two years ago? That would’ve been questionable at best -”

“But you guys didn’t know that I was gonna do anything-”

“Come on, bunny,” Natasha pins you with a look that shuts you up almost immediately. “Give us some credit - we’re not dumb and we know you-”

“Fine,” you drag out the last syllable of the word childishly. “So why mention it to me now?”

“Because you’re old enough… and in a situation where your Daddy’s not paying for any of your stuff anymore.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve got, like, a lot of other opportunities that I don’t even need to work for,” you tell her cockily, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I take this one when I could get any other real job so easily?”

Natasha’s lips curve into that same smirk. “Because you’re a whore.”

You collapse into a fit of giggles but she’s right. Really and truly, you are - what you like to call - a self-proclaimed slut. But any woman who’s free enough in her sexuality seems to be one these days, so you own the title that’s been hurled at you like an insult for so many years. You wear it with pride... for the most part, but not too much pride because you still have parents who still - somehow - think you’re a total virgin.

(you are still a virgin but your promiscuity makes people think otherwise)

“Right,” you agree easily, tapping your nails on the arm of the couch.

“Just something for you to think about,” Natasha hums, checking the time on her watch before rubbing the sleeve of her white Balenciaga hoodie over her face “Now, leave me alone. I’ve gotta go get ready; I’ll see you in a few.”

Without any further conversation, she ends the call and leaves you laughing light-heartedly although something heavy continues to weigh on your conscience. A sugar daddy. You can’t lie to yourself and say that it’s something that you’ve never thought about before - because it most definitely is - and it’s been the shameless subject of some of your filthiest dreams. Are you going to lie and say that you don’t have an… affinity for older men? No, you aren’t. Are you gonna tell yourself that the idea of a man spoiling you doesn’t make heat burn in your core? Absolutely not. However, you’ve never thought of yourself as the submissive type. Your confidence - no, cockiness has always been a real defining trait for you and that’s always worked in your favor when it comes to romance or even sex. You take what you want, rather than waiting for it to come to you. Although, you have a feeling that an attitude like that could get you in a lot of trouble in circumstances like these.

But what’s life without a little danger?

—

You’ve put on a tight, cropped black t-shirt and on top, a brown Fendi mini dress with thin spaghetti straps that clings to your body like a second skin; your feet are clad in heeled Louboutin ankle boots. Grabbing your black Prada bag and almost comically giant black, square Burberry sunglasses, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You only put on a little bit of blush, mascara, and tinted lipgloss, accessorizing with small golden hoops, an array of rings that have been gifted to you by either your father or your ex-boyfriends and a simple gold necklace that spells out ‘bunny’ in cursive, a gift from Natasha. Satisfied, you slide your sunglasses onto your face and head to the elevator, phone in hand.

When you reach the lobby, Jarvis is waiting for you, holding the door open with a kind smile on his face.

“Miss,” he greets you, ushering you out the door. You basically jump on him, winding your arms around his neck and he chuckles as you sway back and forth in your embrace.

“Afternoon, Jarvis,” you grin at him.

The two of you walk outside to the black Range Rover with the tinted windows - black matches your outfit today - and as you climb in the back, your security detail split up into the other SUVs in front and behind you.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Jarvis asks you conversationally, stopping at a red light not even 15 seconds after you pull away from the front of your apartment. Damn New York traffic.

“Nat and I are going to Nordstrom’s,” you tell him despite the fact that he already knows, but he nods regardless. “And then Peter Parker’s hosting a party tonight.”

“And will you be needing a ride to that event?”

“No thanks, J,” you shoot him a smile before looking back down at your phone. “I’ll probably get a ride with Natasha.”

Jarvis nods and the rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, the radio playing softly and the clicking of your nails on your phone screen the only sounds in the car.

—

“There’s absolutely no way you’re wearing that-”

“Shut up, Nat!” you squeal, grabbing the dress off the rack. “It’s kinda cute!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes at you fondly, staring at the monstrosity that you’re clutching in your hands.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” she deadpans, searching your face almost desperately for any sign of sarcasm.

You act offended: “I’m not!”

Nat just pokes you in the sides, tugs on your earlobe, and continues her hunt, which makes you burst into loud laughter and leaves the store employees looking at the two of you  in what you’ve come to recognize as contained, professional amusement.

—

It’s about an hour before the party starts when you even start thinking about getting ready. In a Versace robe with your hair wrapped up in a towel, you’re scrolling through Instagram with a mud mask on. Nat comes into the room and shrieks at the sight of your face, making you flick your eyes up and grin as wide as the mask lets you. With her hand over her heart, she stares at you dryly while silent little chuckles shake your whole body.

“You’re in a good mood,” she remarks, eyeing you with an air of suspicion.

“Of course I am, Nat,” you look at her in disbelief. “I’m about to get wasted tonight-”

She interrupts you by calling your name out in a warning tone. Your only response is a dramatic roll of your eyes.

“We’re going so that we can have fun, not so you can go on a bender-”

“I won’t!” you drop your phone and throw your hands up in exasperation. “Holy shit, Mom - do you have no confidence in me?!”

Loud silence hangs in the air for a minute while Nat just blinks at you.

“...remember when you left me alone in Manhattan because you went to go trip on acid with Senator Coulson’s son-”

“Oh my God, Nat, okay, I get it - I’m a shitty friend and a drug addict, blah blah blah, whatever-”

“You’re not an addict,” she corrects you. “You just... really like doing drugs.”

You shrug, stretching your arms over your head, bringing them back down and then slapping your hands loudly on the bare skin of your thighs. The sound makes Nat flinch which amuses you mildly before you yawn loudly.

“Need me to help you with anything before I start getting ready?” you offer, knowing that once you start getting ready, you’re going to be in your own little world for about an hour and a half.

Natasha - who is significantly less high-maintenance than you - shakes her head. You nod, standing up and heading into her bathroom to wash the mud off your face.

“Did you think about what I told you earlier?” she asks, following you into the spacious room to lay on the chaise tucked against the wall behind you. You lock eyes with her in the mirror as she stretches herself out like a feline.

“Yeah,” you say nonchalantly. “Just for a little, but I don’t know if that kinda thing is for me.”

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, looking down at her nails. “Oh, okay. I was just wondering ‘cause Wanda said there would be some people that she knows are into that kinda thing at Parker’s tonight-”

Oh, now your interest is peaked. You whip around, towel still in hand from drying your face, and stare her dead in the eye.

“For real?”

“Yeah, but if you’re not really interested-”

“Shut up, Natasha, you know I’m interested.” Your heart beats fast in your chest and your teeth catch on your lower lip, gnawing on it gently. Your fingers come back up to your wrist and stretch the elastic so that it bounces back against your skin. “Like… a lot of them will be there?”

She nods, regarding you with cool interest. “At least that’s what Wanda said. She’s better versed in this whole thing than I am.”

You can only bob your head up and down, suddenly nervous about attending this party. Natasha can sense it, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“Look, bunny, it’ll be fine,” she gives you a reassuring smile. “They’ll love you. And if you change your mind, you won’t even have to interact with them in the first place; you’ll just be like any other person attending this thing. But Wanda knows a lot of them - that should be reassuring enough: she knows all about these guys, so it’s not like she’s going to introduce us to any major creeps.”

“Okay.”

—

“Okay,” you breathe out. Okay, you can do this. You’ve met presidents and prime ministers, singers and actors, kings and queens, but you’ve never been this nervous in your entire life.

Granted, none of those people were asking you to exchange sex for money, so it’s not really the same thing.

You’re wearing Dolce & Gabbana tonight - because they asked you to - and the golden silk dress that hits your mid-thigh and hugs your body so tight that it looks as if you were poured into it makes it all worth it. It shows off all of the dips and curves of your body and paired with your Alexander Vauthier clear slingback heels and a gold Vanina pearl-embellished handbag, you feel like a million dollars (even though that’s definitely not what this outfit costs). Natasha is standing next to you in a black Dolce & Gabbana corset dress - because they asked her to - and black red bottoms.

Your long red nails come up to toy with your ‘bunny’ necklace while you scan the massive crowds for a friendly face. It’s true that between the two of you, it is very much likely that you know - or know of - everybody here. But you don’t spare them a second glance despite the fact that they’re ogling you. No, you don’t linger on the bulging muscles and impressive height nor the full lips and pretty hair like you usually do. Instead, you’re looking for-

“Wanda! ” you call out, eyes falling on her reddish-brown hair flowing down her back in loose waves.

She’s standing by the bar, speaking to someone that you don’t know when she turns around, blue eyes quickly landing on you as she gives you that charming smile. Grabbing Nat’s hand, you run over to her and envelop her in a warm embrace. She squeals loudly, stumbling back as you realize that she’s probably already had a few drinks by now.

“Hi, guys,” she greets the two of you, looking up and down at your outfits approvingly. “You look hot.”

You return the compliment and pressing a kiss to her cheek, you stroke her hair while she and Nat engage in conversation. You take the opportunity to stare at all of the different groups of people who have gathered on Peter’s rooftop. There must be at least 300 people here already - the night has barely started - and you can see not a single person who looks like an old man. You furrow your brow, squinting and pushing up on your toes to see if you can see anyone that you don’t vaguely recognize from somewhere or another.

“Lookin’ for someone?”

The voice is unmistakable.

“Peter!”

He says your name in what’s only a mildly offensive mockery of your tone. You abandon Wanda and throw yourself into the arms of the boy, ruffling his already unkempt hair and also smacking a loud kiss on his cheek. He chuckles, his arm winding around your waist as he says hello to both Wanda and Nat.

Apparently you’re in a hugging mood tonight.

“I’m glad you guys could all make it,” he smiles so sweetly that you kiss him again, his cheeks turning flaming red. Peter has always been like a little brother to you although he’s actually a year older. You both went to high school and college together, and it helps that your mother and his aunt are also really good friends.

Except you don’t know how anybody could want to be friends with your demon of a mother.

“We couldn’t miss this,” Wanda gestures around her, pinching Peter on the cheek like a child which makes him frown. “Where’s MJ, Petey?”

You all “ooh” like high schoolers and Peter’s face turns somehow even redder - your heart swells - and he takes this as his cue to leave, slipping away and mumbling something about having to greet guests like a good host. It makes you all giggle, watching the boy with fond eyes.

Wanda abruptly turns to you, downing the champagne that she picks up off of the tray of one of the passing waiters.

“So Nat told me that you’re looking for a sugar daddy-”

“Shhh!” you hiss at her, clamping your hands tightly over her mouth because oh my god, Wanda, please speak louder. This makes Natasha laugh into her own glass of champagne.“Oh my god, why are you yelling?”

“Okay,” she drags it out and rolls her eyes, leaning into your group of three and whispering exaggeratedly. “So I heard you’re looking for a sugar daddy.”

“Sure, okay,” you whisper back, looking around before standing up straight because it’s just occurred to you how sketchy you all must look huddled in a circle like this. “So like… how does this work? Do we just… go up to them? Is there like some kind of code-?”

Wanda snorts loudly, throwing her head back and laughing. Your face slips into a pout and you cross your arms over your chest.

“No, idiot,” Wanda replies, pulling a tube of lipstick and a mirror out of her clutch. She starts to apply it while speaking to you. “They’re here already, and we’ve just gotta go up to them,” she smacks her lips together with finality, “and tell them we’re interested. Or, more like you’re going up to them and we’re here for moral support.”

“What happened to your guy, Wanda?” Nat asks, signaling to the bartender for a refill.

“And how did you get into it?” you ask her, one eyebrow quirking.

She smiles conspiratorially and runs her hands carefully through her hair. “There’s an app. And Viz and I are still together-”

“Viz? ” you almost choke on your own spit because you laugh so hard. Natasha joins you in a far more respectful way, her shoulders shaking as she picks up her now-full glass. Getting literal daggers thrown at your face would’ve been less piercing than the look that Wanda’s giving you right now, so you decide to shut your mouth and listen.

“Yes,” she says your name condescendingly, which makes you roll your eyes. “His name is Vision - it’s a long, personal story that I won’t share with either of you because you both fucking suck,” she stares the two of you down, “but that’s his nickname and what everyone calls him. It’s kinda cool, you know: super contemporary. Like Madonna or Beyoncé or Cher-”

“Okay,” Natasha licks her lips, putting one of her hands on her hip. “We get it, Wanda, thanks. But you told us that you guys broke up-?”

“Yeah, we just took a break,” Wanda shrugs. “Now, we’re back together and better than ever.”

You and Nat share a look before blinking back at Wanda, nodding your heads compliantly.

“So,” you rock back on your heels and start snapping your hair tie again. “Are we gonna go do this, or?”

Wanda’s eyes drift down to your wrist before she places a hand on top of it, stilling your actions. Your eyes are wide and glossy, your teeth worrying your lip.

“What’re you nervous about?” Wanda begins quietly, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb. “They’ll love you - they’re all super cool and really hot. I think that the only problem that you’ll have is that you’ll be spoilt for choice.”

Your laugh comes out watery but sincere nonetheless, so Wanda loops her arm through yours while Natasha grips your hand tightly.

“Maybe we should get you a drink-”

“No, Nat,” you inhale deeply. “I wanna be completely sober for this. After… after, yeah. I’m definitely gonna need a drink after.”

You all laugh while Wanda weaves you through swathes of socialites, stopping to say hello to some people. When you finally make your way all the way to the other end of the roof, you can see why you didn’t see them before. There is a set of stairs that lead down to what looks like a zen garden. Tall torches flame a collection of very comfortable-looking couches are placed around a stone firepit and on top of those couches are a group of some of the most handsome men that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first one to make eye contact with you is astoundingly attractive, so much so that you almost trip over your own feet. You know- you can just tell that he smells incredible. His mahogany skin shines in the light of the fire, and his full lips curve over a gap-toothed smile that he shoots your way; it immediately makes a smile of your own spread on your face. His beard is lined up to perfection and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his whiskey brown eyes. A little bit of his chest hair pokes out from underneath the top of his almost halfway-unbuttoned dress shirt and your mouth waters. You almost feel sorry for the slacks that are hugging his thighs sinfully tight because his powerful legs look like they’re about to burst through the seams.

You decide that you’ve never wanted to be a pair of pants so badly in your life.

Jesus Christ. These men aren’t even close to what I expected.

All you can say is that you’re glad to see that the same caliber of attractiveness holds up for the rest of them.

The man next to him has longer brunette hair that hits his shoulders and you just want to run your hands through the silky strands. He has a bit more of a rugged look, his facial hair groomed purposely to give off that energy. He’s wearing a tight, long-sleeve black shirt and black slacks too, the monochrome outfit highlighting every inch of his well-toned body. When you look at him, he’s staring down into his glass, the sweetest smile on his face that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. But then he looks up at you, and you’re taken aback by the vibrance of his steel-blue eyes. It stops your breath momentarily, and you have time to regain it when he taps the man next to him on the knee and points towards the three of you.

The man in question raises his head, face shielded partially by a pair of yellow-tinted glasses. His blonde hair is slicked back away from his face, and you take a second to admire his prominent bone structure. But he’s looking right past you, eyes boring holes into Wanda which makes you stop your ogling.

You assume that this must be Vision.

There’s one of the men who isn’t facing you and doesn’t even turn around to do so, but you can make out his extremely broad shoulders clad in a white t-shirt even from where you stand a distance away. Even the back of his head is attractive, his thick neck and pushed-back blonde hair. Wanda tugs on your arm impatiently, evidently eager to reach her man.

The three of you linked together almost fall down the stairs before you regain your collective composures and strut over there with all the confidence that you don’t feel. Wanda lets you and Nat go when you draw closer, fixing her hair before the brightest grin that you’ve ever seen on her face shines at Vision. He opens his arms to greet her and you have to look away because of the very much x-rated kiss that she plants on him: you feel like you’re intruding on something.

“Jesus,” Nat snorts in your ear, her hand still resting in yours. This makes you giggle, high-pitched and nervously, so Nat squeezes your hand before she pulls you forwards.

Wanda has situated herself in the lap of her man, his hand resting gently on her hip. She clears her throat, cheeks red from her public display of affection, and begins to speak.

“Hi, guys,” she says, waving and smiling at all the men politely. They all greet her back warmly, raising their hands too. “These are my best friends. This is Nat,” she gestures to the girl next to you and Nat just nods her head in acknowledgment.

“And this is the friend I told you about,” Wanda introduces you by name to the four men who she points at in turn: “Bunny, this is Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Vision, and Steve Rogers.”

Giving a little awkward wave of your hand, you unglue your eyes from the floor and scan all of the men up close now.

They’re all so much prettier up close.

From this distance, you can now clearly see how pretty Sam’s eyes are, how bright Bucky’s smile is, how strong Vision’s jaw is, and-

Holy shit.

It’s obvious that you must’ve died and gone to heaven some time in these past few minutes because Adonis’ blue eyes are scorching holes into your face. His high-neck white long sleeve sweater is probably in his size but the way that his muscles flex under the material is telling you otherwise. The size of his biceps - probably as big as your head - briefly make you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around your neck-

If you stare hard enough at his pecs - which you are - you can see the hard peaks of his nipples; you decide that there’s something so sensual about that and if that alone didn’t just make you wet, you decide that you can’t be human. The sweater is tucked into grey checkered pants with a black Yves Saint Laurent belt wrapped around his surprisingly narrow waist. He’s leaning back in his seat with his huge hands on his thighs, his strong legs spread wide almost an invitation for you to crawl between them. Your eyes move past his clearly tailored pants to his huge feet clad in black Versace loafers and you can feel the liquid that pools in your cunt. Realizing that you’re shamelessly checking this poor man out, your eyes snap up to his face only to have the breath completely knocked out of you, not for the first time tonight.

Not only is his body complete perfection, but his face is also arguably even better. His defined jawline gives you the urge to run your tongue over it but that beard. Your squeeze your thighs together because you want to know how it feels between your thighs. His ears are perfectly proportional to his head - a characteristic that should never be underestimated, mind you - and his cheekbones are high. But you can’t ignore the fullness nor the rosy pigmentation of his lips - his lower lip is fuller than the top and you wanna bite it so bad and he’s smirking a little. When you finally lock eyes with him, you feel as if you’re drowning but admittedly even if you were, you wouldn’t mind doing so in the blue of his irises. They darken slightly when they train onto yours, and one of his perfect eyebrows lifts questioningly.

This whole interaction has only lasted about five seconds but it feels like you’re in a movie, everything moving in slow motion. He stands up abruptly and you do actually choke at his size, his sheer height and width alone soaking your panties. One hand in his pocket, he takes slow, measured steps until he stands directly in front of you, not even sparing a glance at Natasha.

“Bunny, huh?” you pray that your knees won’t give out at his deep baritone and you can’t take your eyes away from his, even when he sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Steve Rogers.”

tagged: @literaturefeen​ @donutloverxo​ @evnscvll​ @stargazingfangirl18​

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 4/5

“Without you around, it’s sorta like stuff is just kinda…bleh.”

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut

Niijima Makoto doesn’t know what she’s doing.

It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes she doesn’t understand the material in university. Sometimes the trains close down before she can catch the last one. Sometimes she has a breakdown because what does it mean that the system that got her father killed is the same one that she’s working so hard to get into.

But there’s always a way to find a solution—ask the professor after lecture. Call Sae and, as humiliating as it was, ask for a ride home. Convince herself that maybe she’s what the system needed in order to get real change. (She’s not quite there yet.)

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with Ryuji, and the internal tug-of-war is almost getting too much for her.

Makoto can help him; how many students has she worked with to help get them back on their feet? But each of those students she had tutored wanted help—she didn’t need to convince them to focus on school. How do you convince someone to get academic help? Duct tape them to a chair and show them a PowerPoint about how their life can fall apart if they don’t take this seriously? Then she’d be blatantly ignoring his mental struggle, and be no better than the adults who want to push kids through a meat grinder that’s the education system and turn them into mindless workers, existing solely to earn them profit.

Then she can leave him alone. That’s what he wants, anyway, and it’s by far the simplest option.

However, if she leaves him alone, would that mean that she’s still the same person who let Shujin students sell themselves to Kaneshiro? Convinced that they can handle it on their own, but only letting their debts pile higher and higher on themselves until they get crushed?

Sudden laughter and shouting from behind pulls Makoto back to reality. They were all in a heated game of Tycoon, and it sounds like Akira’s been on a winning streak for the past half hour.

She grips the steering wheel tighter, forcing herself to focus on the road and not the whirlwind of thoughts. The highway is nearly empty, despite the sun being high in the sky, not a single cloud blocking its rays. They’re on their way to Okinawa, and it’s her turn to drive.

Makoto may not know what she’s doing, but she can at least do this.

—

Okumura Haru has always had a bit of a guilt complex.

It started with refusing to give her hand to an abusive man for her also abusive father’s business, and it had only escalated even further once she realized that it’s technically her fault that her father had been killed; that one in particular had been crippling. Not only because he died due to her poor decision making, but it was another reason why the Thieves had fallen for Shido’s trap last year.

She respects herself enough now to understand that most of it is misplaced, but it doesn’t erase any of the guilt she still carries today. Far from it—that guilt has only grown to be bigger, looming over her as if it were ready to consume every inch of her body and spit out a bag of bones.

This situation, though, she can’t help but feel that her guilt isn’t quite as misplaced as she likes to convince herself it is.

They were all having lunch at the ferry’s restaurant; it’s small, given how little people want to go all the way out to Okinawa, but it’s still selling ludicrously overpriced coffee and pastries. Nobody seems to mind, though. All of them were sharing one cheese omelette, each with a plastic fork in hand, tapping them against each other to get the best piece and assert dominance like animals at a watering hole.

A way to soothe guilt is to somehow find a way to remedy the situation. Employees of Big Bang Burger have been unionized, her father is now remembered for the man he was rather than the man he became, Sugimura has long since been a problem (how he stopped being a problem, she legally cannot speak about), and Shido isn’t even in the public’s conscious anymore.

But for Ryuji, there is no way to soothe that guilt. Not in a way that matters.

It’s not just because Haru had essentially been the reason why too many people know his secret, but because the secret should have never happened in the first place. She’s his senpai, she was supposed to be the one looking out for him. Ryuji was struggling, mentally and academically, and she hadn’t realized it until it was far too late. He had been there for her, ready to knock Sugimura’s teeth into his throat, but she couldn’t have done the same for him when it truly mattered.

How do you soothe that guilt? Buy out the entire school? Forge his grades? More cram books? That’s ridiculous.

There’s no way to soothe that guilt, she realizes, because the only real way to do that was to turn back time.

—

Kitagawa Yusuke understands pride better than most people.

Without a cent to his name for most of his life, pride was all he had. Pride of being the pupil of someone great, pride of turning money away in the name of art. Being able to withstand enormous pressure and stick to his guns has always been one of his strongest abilities.

They’re in the Okinawa jail, tearing through Shadows and screaming Sophia’s name, over and over again until all of their throats are torn raw. He calls for Goemon, and ice crawls over the narrow corridors of the facility like ants covering every inch of a buffet. They’re all strong, because they have to be, but the Shadows here are cunning; fast and magic-infused, drunk on the strange, thick air that’s bled into every inch of cement in this building.

But pride can be an unforgiving catalyst that can change you from the inside out, like a parasite hijacking your brain stem and compels you to bow down to it. He had refused to see the truth, turned a blind eye to the evils of his sensei, and it made him into a lesser version of himself. It had made him weaker.

A crack of lightning strikes, emanating light so bright that he instinctively raises a hand to block it out. When it dims, any smell of the cold, dry air is gone—in its place is the distinct scent of ozone wafting around him, and a light buzz that settles atop his skin like a second layer. The hair on his nape stands, but Yusuke’s positive it didn’t come from the electricity still buzzing from the ashes of the Shadows.

Ryuji had obliterated all of their foes with one, clean strike.

—

Takamaki Ann can tell that something’s off.

Her toes are buried deep in hot sand, taking refuge under their big umbrella. The sun is just about setting over the horizon, casting an orange glow on her skin, and she idly hopes that she had put on enough sunscreen. They’ve tired themselves out for the most part; some were taking naps on beach towels, some had retired back to the RV where air conditioning awaits them.

Only Akira and Ryuji were left, standing where the sand meets the tide, water lapping at their ankles. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she recognized the look on Akira’s face—with his glasses hanging from his button up, his eyes sparkled brighter than the ocean does, not quite smiling but his lips are curled up as if unable to completely restrain itself. It’s the look he reserves for Ryuji.

She digs her feet deeper into the sand, enjoying the way it tickles her calves. Ann’s been thinking about this whole thing in her head ever since she found out the truth, and something just isn’t adding up.

As absolutely insane as it all is, if she closes one eye, tilts her head, and slams her head against a wall, she can sort of, kind of, maybe understand where he’s coming from. She’s known him too long not to. The whole actively lying to his friends thing is still unforgivable, but the need to hide it? Understandable. She barely scraped by second-year herself with a prayer and English-speaking parents, and even then her grades are nothing to write home about.

Ann could barely believe that Ryuji really thought that Akira would leave him over something as stupid as flunking school, but even that she can understand, too. Everyday, she wants to be a better person for Shiho, and everyday, she goes to bed thinking that she didn’t try hard enough. Ann gets it. Love screws with your brain, swirls it up until you can barely stand up straight, and definitely messes with your perception of yourself. Ridiculous, crazy, but still somewhat coherent.

There’s still one piece in this whole puzzle that hasn’t clicked yet, and it’s been bugging her ever since that night in the cafe.

As perceptive as he is, as smart and observant and unstoppable as he is, as kind and knowledgeable as he is, as much as he adores Ryuji to the moon and back—

Why hasn’t Akira said anything yet?

—

Sakura Futaba knows that something’s off.

As the navigator, she sees everything she needs to make sure her team makes it out of every battle alive and victorious. Necronomicon can see stuff that no one else can, can predict two, three, four moves before it can happen. She eats stats for breakfast and spits out results by second breakfast. She knows her team’s moveset like the back of her hand and then some. Futaba takes this seriously, because if she doesn’t, someone’s not walking out alive.

The best part is that she’s good at this. So good that the eternal worrywart, Joker himself, can still walk out of the Metaverse with a head of thick, black hair.

But something’s been off. She felt it in her bones and that feeling only gets more prominent with every passing Jail—no, not even Jail. With every battle, that feeling only gets stronger in her gut.

When it started is still a mystery to her, but she started picking up on it in Sapporo. Sapporo. Her mom told her never to pray, but by god she’s hoping that it started in Sapporo, because this—this thing, is too big to have missed.

Futaba isn’t sure what it is yet, but she has no idea what’s happening with Ryuji.

To be more specific, she has no idea what’s happening with Captain Kidd, but that’s basically the same thing; Personas are the extension of the user, I am thou, et cetera. The weirdest part is, she knows something’s off, but she doesn’t know if it’s necessarily a problem.

It’s as if Ryuji’s been hitting the gym while they weren’t looking, or giving Kidd a stern talking to. His attacks, which used to be around the same baseline as the rest of the team, is nearly outputting double the amount of damage than the rest of them. His hits are buffed to the wazoo on a level she’s never seen before in any other Persona user, even Akira.

She’s considered bringing it up with him dozens of times. The two of them have to be honest with each other, not because they love and respect each other or any of that bullcrap—it’s because it’s the only way anything can ever function in the team. Between the navigator and the leader, if they ever hide anything from the other, no matter how small, things would never run smoothly. Or worse: it’ll crash and burn.

And then Ryuji comes along and makes them all take a blood oath to never, ever tell Akira a really big secret.

Technically, she doesn’t see an issue with it. It’s more of an unspoken rule than any kind of signed contract, and it’s mostly about Metaverse stuff instead of real world problems. She’s not eagerly telling Akira about her private Pixiv account or anything. But it’s not impossible to think that Ryuji being strong enough to be wearing ten Gilded Vests stacked on top of each other is somehow connected to his very real, very heart-affecting situation. If she really thought it was a problem, she’d tell Akira right away. It’s better to have Ryuji hate her than to have him dead.

But when she sees Akira’s face flash with relief in Akane’s Jail when Ryuji all but annihilates a mega-super-high level Shadow, one that Akira’s been stressing about the entire time since they’ve been here despite him trying his best to act cool about it because he has to be, it’s kinda hard to consider this to be a problem at all.

—

Between Konoe’s attacks and relentless bolts of ions getting shot up every few seconds, the static is so thick in the air that their hairs are all frayed and heading skywards.

The blast from Konoe’s mech, once a symbol of their triumph and had pulled no small amount of whoops and cheers from their throats, is only the first stage of their fated battle. They hadn’t planned for an extra phase, and the only reason they were able to escape was that steam from the busted metal and machinery had given them a few seconds of cover.

All of them are huddled behind a wall, outlined with neon blue that only served to blend them in with the futuristic technicholar that is the Osaka Jail.

“We’re clear,” Makoto announces, voice low as she returns from peeking around the corner. “No chance he knows our location.”

“Thank you Queen,” Akira says, mask pushed far up his head, clear eyes rapidly checking over each of his teammates, nodding. “Good work out there with the mech, now let’s figure this one out. What do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Futaba’s goggles reflect data as her fingers dance over the screen. “If we assumed that his weaknesses would be the same as his mech, then it would be lightning and nuclear.”

“Only if we assume that his physical form reflects his robotic form,” Yusuke points out. “What are the odds that that’s the case?”

Morgana taps his paw on the ground, deep in thought. “High, I’d say. Remember, he didn’t even think anyone could actually get into his Jail. He was worried enough to give himself two forms, but I doubt he’d go much deeper than that in terms of protection.”

“Look, my math might be a little off,” Ryuji starts. “But it’s literally a ten-on-one, right? I vote we kick his ass from the get go.”

Akira grips his arm. “Don’t. It might be a ten-on-one, but I don’t want to be walking out of here with only nine or less. We take this slow, like we always do.”

“...Fine.”

“What I’m worried about is that big sword of his,” Ann says grimly. “It looks like one hit from that thing I can kiss my entire torso goodbye.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Eyes flickering to Futaba, Akira asks, “Possible defenses?”

“I’m not seeing anything special from it other than it’s huge and sharp and could kill us if he really wanted to, which, he does. So it looks like it’s physical, unless he has something up his sleeve.”

“Which he probably does, because that’s just how things usually go for us,” Ann sighs.

“We’ll go with what we know.” Akira gets on his feet, taking another peek, black coattails swishing around his ankles. With blood-red hands he pulls his mask back down, and they all straighten up. His voice is barely above a mutter, but they all catch every word he says. “Panther, how’s your energy?”

“Nearly full,” she answers.

“Use Concentrate on Queen and Skull on their call, double their magical attack whenever you can. I know it takes awhile to reuse when you’re using it for anyone but yourself, but try your best. Ryuji, how you holding up?”

“Like everything’s zero gravity, leader.”

“Then I want you to do the same with Charge for Fox, Noir, and yourself. Don’t overdo it though—only do it on my call.”

“Got it.”

“Sophie, Morgana: healing duty. Especially for those of you who drain your health like an open tap. Noir, try to get a vantage point and use Milady’s arsenal. Catching Konoe off guard can be what we need. Oracle, watch our backs. Everyone else, on standby. Are we all clear?”

With a nod, Akira takes a deep breath. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

He takes the first step, knowing full well that ten more are right behind him.

The minute Konoe spots where they were hiding, he takes a slow pace towards them, confident in his own abilities. He swings his lightsaber around him with ease, footsteps heavy and sure.

They take his lethargy to their advantage. “Split!” Akira calls, and immediately they head to where they need to be. “Let’s take this nice and—”

In a split second, the unhurried pace that Konoe was taking dissipates and he dashes forward, a blur to their eyes, heading straight for Ann, who just barely dodges out of the way.

“What the hell?!”

“He’s fucking fast now!”

“This guy’s speed just cranked up!” Futaba yells. “If he could do that without me even realizing it, then who knows—”

“Stay sharp, we know what we’re doing.”

“How on earth are you still so calm, Joker?!”

“Because I believe in all of you.” Dashing left, he brushes his mask. “Neko Shogun, help me out.” A black cat with eyes bigger than his hand materializes from the monochrome mask, and they all suddenly feel lighter on their feet, ready to dodge anything that comes their way. “Queen, Skull.”

“Roger that!”

Makoto scales one of the neon walls, grip strength insurmountable, and runs across the wires that are tied from each platform, boots barely touching the cord, before jumping down. “Johanna!”

An explosion, or something more akin to a nuclear bomb getting set off mere meters in front of them, occurs where Makoto lands, hitting Konoe head-on.

He staggers back, obviously shaken but he recovers quickly. Lightsaber buzzing red, he’s about to strike at her when she hops on the back of Johanna, engine revving. “Lucky us, he’s weak to nuclear.”

Ryuji hops on his feet, hyping himself up. “Not all of us have cars for a quick getaway,” he snarks, before he’s gone, sprinting so fast that he’s nearly a blur to anyone looking his way. Racing behind a wall, he gets the jump on Konoe. “Come on out, Captain!”

A storm brews even without a single cloud over them as ozone reeks and lightning strikes, the deafening sound of thunder makes their ears ring.

“Holy crap,” Futaba breathes.

“Is he weak?” he asks.

“Uh,” Ann says. Konoe uses his lightsaber as a makeshift cane to get himself on his feet, shaking his head aggressively. “Yeah, I’d say he’s weak to it.”

“Comms are set,” Futaba announces. “Noir, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Oracle,” a bright voice chirps in their ears. “Joker, it’s an easy shot.”

“Take it.”

“With your help, Milady.”

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings out, and their heads swivel to see if it hit, but there’s no one there.

“What the...?” Ann wildly spins around, eyes widening. “Sophie—!”

Without turning her head back, Sophia instinctively ducks sideways, bits of red locks falling to the ground as Konoe’s lightsaber slices through the edges of her hair, and again when it grazes past her head, and another when it slices through the metal flooring like it was butter.

Panic grips her. “Pithos!” Sophia shrieks, voice high with fear. Blinding light shines from her hands, but Konoe walks into it like it was nothing.

Yusuke grips his katana, and silent as a gust of wind on a winter’s night, cuts through the air in front of him to deliver a myriad of slashes over Konoe. It does little to him, but it’s jarring enough that Sophia can escape where she was cornered.

“He’s very speedy,” Sophia says shakily. “Thank you, Fox.”

He nods, touching his mask in preparation. “That speed is nothing to jest about.”

“And we can’t do anything about it by just standing here! Makoto, back me up here.” Ann throws her mask in the air. “Carmen!”

“Find me an opening, and I’ll handle the rest,” Haru’s voice crackles.

“She’s right.” Akira touches his mask as it burns bright with the strength of dozens, maybe even hundreds of Personas. “She needs cover, and we need the element of surprise. Fox, Morgana.”

“Not a word more.”

“You got it!”

Ann takes a leaf from Makoto’s book, using her whip to grapple herself onto a ledge, running to take the high point behind Konoe, grazing Haru’s shoulder on the way there.

Konoe turns, but before he can take a counter measure, Akira calls out: “King Frost.”

At the same time, Yusuke says, voice loud and clear: “Goemon!”

Together, pillars of ice, meters and meters high surround Konoe, high enough that he can’t see anything past a few feet. But that height comes with a price; they can only make it so thick, and the lightsaber didn’t hesitate to crush it into bits.

“Panther, we don’t have too much time.” Already, sweat begins to pool and roll down Akira’s skin, using up his magic rapidly. “Are you in position?”

“Just—” she hops, heels clicking rapidly against the floor. “—About! Ten seconds!”

“We can hold it. Sophia, stay close on standby.”

“Understood!”

Motorcycle wheels screech next to Ryuji, and he doesn’t hesitate to hop on the back before they’re off again, leaving tire marks where they skirted off. “I swear to god, you play the racing games in the arcade. How the hell else would you get so good at this?”

“Would you shut up?” Makoto snaps.

“Roger that.”

“I’m in position!” Ann announces. She’s almost directly on top of the ice pillar. “On your signal.”

Gritting his teeth, Akira wipes the sweat away. “Hold.”

Yusuke swivels his head to him, knees shaking. “I can hold for as long as you need me to, but I might not be as much use afterwards.”

“It’s fine.” His eyes narrow at Konoe, still tearing through their ice blockade as the pile of shards only gets higher and higher. “Just a little bit longer. Sophia, use the biggest, most pinpoint bless move you have on my word.”

“Yes,” she responds, before hesitating. “He’s immune to it, I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Even Akira sounds breathless, his footing becoming unsteady.

“Joker, you don’t have much left,” Futaba warns. “You better hope this ends things, or we’re gonna have a real big problem on our hands.”

Once the shards of ice have piled high enough that it would surpass Konoe’s height twice over, and despite his hands beginning to turn blue, Akira's grin is wide. “Three—”

Yusuke’s vision begins to blur, but he refuses to relinquish Goemon.

“Two—”

Haru rearranges her finger on the trigger, palms drenched in sweat but they don’t shake. Not anymore.

“One—”

Ann takes a few steps back, sucking in a breath before sprinting forward, jumping straight over the open-chasm of ice and death beneath her.

“Now!”

Carmen releases a blaze of flame intense enough to encompass an entire neighborhood and then some, taking the shards and bits of ice that was piled high on top of each other and turning it into a cloud of fog and hot mist, shooting straight up and turning the visibility of the whole area to zero.

Yusuke crumbles to his knees as Ann tucks and rolls onto the floor, hissing as she feels her ankle twist into something nasty. “Shit!”

Akira staggers back, gripping his head like it hurts for him to stand, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling out: “Sophia!”

“Makougan!”

Like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm, there shines a beam of light so bright, so concentrated into one area, that they all know exactly where to aim their fire.

It all comes tumbling down, a perfectly set-up domino trap; Haru pulls trigger after trigger, bullet shells flying, ignoring the way her shoulder is inching further and further from where it’s supposed to be by taking the brunt of the recoil. Ryuji hops off the bike, crossing his arms in front of him calling two, three, four bolts as Makoto calls another nuclear blast.

From inside the whirlpool of thick clouds, where the fog is most dense, a figure sways, coughing and lurching forwards and back, trying desperately to escape.

“Oh no you don’t! Zorro!”

Wind, so thick you can almost see it, swirls around most of the mist, locking it in and dragging everyone else’s attacks right in the center.

Futaba’s clacking can be heard even now. “He’s losing health fast! Eighty percent, seventy percent, sixty—”

The ground trembles ominously.

“What in the world…?” Yusuke pants from the ground, elbows barely able to keep his torso up.

It happens again, stronger this time.

“Fifty, forty—” she continues, voice small and desperate. “Thirty! Twenty!”

Akira presses his palm against the ground, eyes closed before snapping open. Despite his exhaustion, he compels himself to stand, arms outstretched defensively. “Guard!”

They do so, and a streak of pure light flickers from the inside, before rapidly getting larger and larger until it turns into a scintillating sphere that grew and pulsed, eating up everything in its wake and blowing away the captivating fog. Try as they might, there’s nothing they can do to stand up against a Megidolaon.

Bruised and battered, Konoe stands tall as the Phantom Thieves can do nothing but look up from the ground, energy and options all but dried up until neither was left.

—

“Stop, I can walk, let me up—”

“Panther, stop struggling, your ankle is already too injured to—”

“Fuck! Oracle, does he know where we are?”

“Not yet; looks like that vanish ball Joker threw out gave us some cover but it’ll last for a way shorter time considering he blew through our plan in less than—”

“Whoa, Fox, you’re not looking good.”

“I’m afraid I can’t keep going, everyone. Goemon has reached his limit, but I don’t necessarily need him to keep fighting. Judging by my vision, however, my accuracy might be much lower than usual.”

“Man, shut up and stay down.”

“Sophia? Can you hear us?”

“Yes, but—ow!”

“Okay, stop moving, you’re only going to make it worse.”

“Joker, we still have plenty of items that we’ve accumulated from previous Jails. We don’t have much time before he can find us again, but if we put our heads together—”

“Are you talking about the scraps of grilled corn and the three life stones we have left? It would be suicide. We have to go in, guns blazing. It’s the only way it can work.”

“You’re talking about suicide, Mona, and the ‘guns blazing’ strategy you’re talking about would be literally lead to us serving our heads on a silver platter.”

“So what’s your plan, Queen? I’m all ears, I’m serious.”

“G-guys, stop fighting! We’ve barely got enough time as is. Just let me scan—”

“We’re pulling back.”

All eyes turn to Akira, posture straight despite the sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead. It’s obvious how he was barely able to stand.

Ryuji takes a step forward. “Are you crazy?”

"More than half of us are running on fumes, and half of those people are injured to the point where they can barely keep going. Our plan was shattered like it was nothing, he has a super move that’s so powerful that it tears through our defenses like tissue paper. We’re retreating.”

“Like hell we are! Do you know what’s gonna happen if we leave?”

“We heal our injuries, we get more items, we prepare better this time, and we come up with a better plan.”

“And that gives that bastard—” he jerks his thumb behind him. “The exact same advantage.”

“And what advantage do we have?” Akira’s voice is calm but they all feel the edge to it. “Who can even fight?”

“I can,” Morgana answers quietly. “He takes wind like concrete, though.”

“So can I. However, I can’t do as much as I normally can.” Haru rolls her shoulder, wincing. “I may have dislocated my shoulder earlier.”

“And me, obviously,” Ryuji finishes. “That’s nearly an entire team. We even have support and a distance shooter, and Futaba’s still in this too, so—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no,” he says, hard. “Don’t be stubborn about this. You know damn well why we can’t.”

Akira turns on his heel, only the slightest wobble in his movements. “Let’s move out. We only have thirty seconds left before the vanish ball wears off.”

“We’re not leaving.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Is it because you’re not on the team?”

A hush falls on them, and for a second, everyone forgets that they were even in the middle of a battle.

Akira glances back, hair covering his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ryuji takes another step forward, chin tilted up. “That you don’t think that we can handle this without you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it really? When was that last time you weren’t on the A team, Joker? Does anyone remember?” He glances at the rest of them. “Anyone? No? Yeah, I figured.”

He stares at him. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“I just don’t like that you’re implying that I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Ryuji…” Ann tries quietly.

“Yourself?” He faces him, expression blank. “I thought this was about the team.”

“And I’m part of the team, ain’t I?”

“You’re not dragging the rest of them into your petty, nonsensical argument, Skull,” Akira goes toe-to-toe with him, neither one blinking. “That’s final.”

“You know it would be dumb as shit to give that guy even more time to prepare. It’s like Shido—he was the toughest guy we went up against because he gave himself a billion counter measures since he knew we were coming. Konoe barely knew jack but he handed our asses to us. We finish this now or we don’t finish this at all.”

“I’d rather lose the battle than lose my friends,” he hisses. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“You’re too fucking blind to see that this is more than just us, leader,” Ryuji spits the word. “I can do it—no, I will do it.”

Akira grabs the bandana around his neck. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he says through gritted teeth. “But you’re not going anywhere near Konoe.”

But it’s useless, and they both know it—Akira’s far too drained and Ryuji’s far too strong for it to be much more than an empty threat.

Ryuji wraps his fingers around his wrist. “I’ll prove to you that I can fucking do this,” his grip is tight, before forcibly peeling Akira’s grasp from him. “Believe in me. I’m strong, Akira.”

“Don’t do this.” Any anger from his words dissipates, and desperation takes its place. “I’m commanding you, as the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts—do not do this.”

With a wide grin and lightning behind his eyes, Ryuji’s gone, and Akira’s hand is grasping thin air.

“Fuck,” he clutches at his head, body shaking with exertion. “Fuck.”

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “He’s going to fight Konoe alone.”

“Over my dead body,” Akira touches his mask. “Come out, Yoshits—” Before he can finish, a gutteral sound from deep in his throat cuts him off, and he crashes ungracefully on the ground. “God dammit.”

Makoto shakes herself out of her stupor, taking a deep breath. “Alright, we can’t leave Skull. We’ll work with what we have.” Instinctively, she looks to Akira for advice, but his eyes are glazed over. Whether or not it’s from exhaustion or shock from what happened, she doesn’t know. “Noir, range attack. Shoot down the broken limbs from the mech, pray it still has nuclear running through its pipes. Mona, you’ll be on the support. Noir is already down in health, and Lord knows Skull’s going to need it. I’m down energy wise, but I have a good visual from above.” Eyes sliding sideways. “Oracle?”

“Comms are set up, I’m scanning for weaknesses, and Skull’s almost there,” she replies instantly. “If you’re going to join him, it’s now or never.”

“Alright.” Makoto swallows. “Everyone else, stay back. You two—go.” Morgana and Noir dart out.

“Thank you,” Akira says quietly. “I was just…out of it.”

“You don’t have to explain. That was…” she trails off when he looks up at her. His gaze in the Metaverse is sharp, always sharp, but now they’re dull. From knives to pebbles.

“Why did he do this?” he whispers. “What did I do wrong?”

The floor begins to rumble again, and they all lean over the edge to watch the battle playout.

“Everyone’s in position,” Yusuke narrates with a frown. “I don’t doubt Skull’s skill, but even at our full power, Konoe couldn’t be beaten.”

“He’s there,” Makoto says, and Akira watches, perfectly still. “He’s about to hit first.”

Ann leans forward, as they all did, at how Ryuji calls Kidd, voice ringing so loud they can hear it from where they sat on top of a wall. “Can he really do it?”

“Well,” Futaba heaves a deep sigh. “He’s right that this is probably our best shot, considering that we already got Konoe down to twenty percent of his health.”

Captain Kidd materializes, and his cannon is leaning back, glowing with power, and Konoe takes a step sideways, about to dodge.

“But Ryuji isn’t the same fighter that he was before.”

Instead of shooting forward, the cannon is swiftly raised skyward and thunder cracks before lightning strikes Konoe, followed by Ryuji lifting his pipe and slamming it straight into his skull and dodging just as another Megidolaon grows where he stood.

All of them stare, wide-eyed, at the spectacle before them like it was a sporting match; a back and forth happens, where Konoe would use his immense speed and power to try and get the leg up on Ryuji, but he would only hit thin air as he dodges and parries, shifting and ducking with a finesse they’ve never seen before, calling up Kidd and using electricity so potent that they feel can its static. Konoe grips his saber and swings and swings, triple-attack rolled into one but everytime he tries he only gets cut off when Ryuji slams his hand into the ground and calls dozens of wildly waving purple hands, each of them clawing at Konoe mercilessly.

“I knew he was stronger than he was before,” Makoto’s eyes are wide with wonder. “But it's like I don’t even recognize him.”

Ions and plasma strike as lightning meets saber, causing a violent cascade of sparks to fly frantically around the two of them. Bullets ring out whenever Konoe takes a step back, only to send him flying as a mini nuclear blast explodes behind him; Haru’s aim is impeccable.

This dance plays out for a long time, with Ryuji calling earth-shaking attacks and dancing around Megidolaons while Haru finds weak spots.

“Has he grown even faster?” Yusuke wonders aloud.

Futaba is struggling to watch all the data, attention straying to watch the fight. “He’s shaved off another ten percent off his health!”

“He’s incredible,” Ann says, awe-struck. “Isn’t he, Joker? He’s totally kicking his ass, pretty much by himself.”

“There’s something wrong.”

She peels her eyes away from below to stare at him, perplexed. “Things couldn’t be any better.”

Akira’s eyes are trained on Ryuji, on the way he’s limboing, countering every single attack rather than guarding. “I’ve seen his style since the very first day he got his Persona, and I’ve never seen him dodge so fluently. So desperately,” he says, eyes narrowed. “Something changed. And I didn’t notice.”

“Guys, am I crazy,” Morgana’s voice crackles in their ear. “Or is he really, really good at dodging attacks? I’ve only healed Noir this entire time, and she’s not even down there.”

“I just think he’s being cautious,” Haru replies, cocking her gun before continuing her assault. “Oracle? Report, please.”

“Five percent left,” they all hear the grin in her voice. “He’s actually going to do it.”

“Panther.” Ann blinks at Akira. “Help me up.”

She does, pushing his shoulders up until he’s sitting straight. “Needed a better view of him being a badass?” she teases.

Instead of answering, his gaze focuses, irises turning into a bright shade of blue.

Third eye, she registers with surprise. “We already know his stats.”

“I don’t care about Konoe’s,” his brow furrows slightly. “I care about his.”

“Two percent!” Futaba calls gleefully.

Suddenly, air catches in Akira’s throat. “What?” Ann startles.

“His endurance,” his voice shakes so intensely that she almost can’t understand what he’s saying. “His endurance.”

“What? What does that mean? Joker?” He tries pushing himself on his feet, crumbling and spewing obscenities when he can’t. “What are you doing? There’s nothing you can do, and Mona’s already got the healing taken care of.”

“One percent!”

The look in Akira’s eye is wild, and he’s paler than she’s ever seen him—whiter than when he came back from the interrogation room, and it’s enough to make her stomach drop all the way to the ground. “By the time they heal him, it’ll be too late.”

Everyone cheers and they both turn their attention back to the battle below them, where Ryuji summons one last bolt at Konoe, and finally, it’s enough to take him down.

Ryuji turns his back to Konoe, arms raised in triumph and drenched in sweat, immense pride clear on his expression.

It all happens in slow motion.

Akira jumps down, ignoring the protests from above, limping and scrambling towards Ryuji. Behind him, Konoe tries for one last, desperate attempt to win by swinging his saber weakly at Ryuji’s ankles, grazing his flesh ever so slightly.

“No!” Akira cries out.

Despite the cut being as shallow as a paper cut and as wide as a bee’s sting, Ryuji crumples to the ground, all life seeped out of him like he was struck through the heart.

[anika-ann]

A Matter of Trust

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 5470 (oops)

Summary: You and Steve get to go to a mission together after a while; free drinks, partying, dressing-up nicely, stealing blueprints, the usual. You might even enjoy this as a couple.

Or… not really. Of course something would go awry. What else did you expect when wearing these killer heels anyway?

A/N: Written for or @wkemeup​’s 4k writing challenge; congratulations! Well-deserved, no arguing here; shall the number continue to grow ;) Thank you for letting me participate!

Prompt: “Get in the closet, now!” (bold in the text)

Warnings: suggestive language, mentions of a kink, objectification, gun violence (brief), swearing (always), attempt at humour, fluff…?

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In your whole history as an operative of S.H.I.E.L.D. slash Avenger, time had never dragged so slowly as it did at this party.

Not even Steve’s presence cheered you up, mostly because he was busying himself with being everyone’s company but yours despite you two coming here together. For a mission. To work, you reminded yourself.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been there for the plan-making which had resulted in mutual agreement of Steve falling into the role of an honourable man whose infamous good nature prevented him from saying no to anyone who asked for a moment with him even if it meant leaving you alone. Which you supposedly mind, because you were here with him only to sneak in here and possibly get your five minutes of glory if he stood by your side long enough

And that was only an act for people who would have noticed you had arrived together.

For the others, you simply attended the party – a known cover-up for a place of business in arms-deal among the powerful men of the underground world – to have fun and seduce some rich businessman.

Sipping from the very same glass of champagne you had helped yourself with about an hour ago, you scanned the room in the search for the big boss. No, not Steve, but the man of the hour, the one whose blueprints you were meant to steal. The blueprints of a potentially large bomb that could kill tens of thousands if it went kaboom and released the nanoparticles of a dangerous virus to the air.

Lovely. Someone clearly had too much time on their hands coming up with crap like that only to make your life miserable.

“What’s a gorgeous lady like yourself doing at this party alone?” a velvety voice interrupted your dark musing and you vainly tried to cover the shudder running down your spine, cursing at the heat curling in your stomach.

Was this how he was talking to all the women who were throwing themselves at him tonight? Probably.

Had you been through that before? Yes.

Had you expected it to happen tonight? Sadly, yeah.

Was it bothering you? Hell the fuck yeah, even if you knew it shouldn’t and that it didn’t mean anything but Steve doing his job right.

You cursed mentally at your weakness and sighed out loud, spinning around to face the man.

“Waiting for a bulky blond supersoldier to come save her, naturally,” you hissed back, hating yourself for letting your jealously get the better of you.

Steve had never ever made you as much as doubt that you were the one for him, but that green bitch of an emotion still intruded on you tonight. You blamed the upcoming visit from aunt flow and the rush of hormones arriving with it and the fact you were itching to leave and go home just for getting rid of those ridiculously high heels alone.

You usually enjoyed wearing high heels, they gave you confidence as gazes of many men and women followed you, but the stilettos you had got chosen tonight could be used as murder weapon.

Ha, maybe you could try and sell them here, you’d make a fortune!

A frown appeared on Steve’s face, one of curiosity, regret and surprise when he registered your irritated tone.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded quietly, whispering to your ear intimately, only making the situation worse.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me, Captain Rogers. You’ll blow it.”

His eyebrow jumped ridiculously high and you realized what you said; you groaned both at his cheekiness and your stupidity.

“Blow our cover. Get your mind out of the gutter…” you muttered, putting some distance between the two of you for the sake of the cover.

“Maybe I’m feeling a bit reckless tonight,” he hummed back, his large palm resting on your lower back and you had to take a moment to swallow the blissful groan at his gesture. You loved his hands and the heels were not only killing your feet, but also you back, and the warmth radiating from his skin felt like heaven. “But seriously, are you okay?”

“You could have asked through the comm.”

“I wanted to check up on you personally.  So?” he insisted and you couldn’t but sigh again, finishing your glass of champagne when you spotted Wagner, aka your target. You stepped away from Steve.

“Just tired. Want this to be over with. Go mingle, Steven.”

Pausing when you took a note of the harshness in your tone, you found his concerned gaze over your shoulder, whispering as softly as you could: “Thank you for your concern… Captain.”

You caught a glimpse of his discreet lopsided smile before turning away fully.

As you walked into the crowd, your long crimson dress curled around your feet with every step due to the provocative – read practical – slit ending mid-thigh. You hoped that the memory of watching you go would occupy his brain for some time while he talked to the flocks of both male and female admirers.

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Two hours. It took you another two hours to ensure you’d be safe sneaking into the Wagner’s office slash bedroom.

Of course his bureau would be his bedroom; men like him knew nothing about good old sleep hygiene, because the thought of their money distracted them from the evil they were doing to the world and had them sleeping like babies.

Using the key-card you had snatched about three minutes ago, you easily entered the over-decorated room.

Looks like someone’s compensating for something, you noted mentally, not losing any time and activating the no-prints mode on your gloves; one of the perks of working with Tony Stark. You were wearing the nanotech the whole evening and no one had a clue, because the particles were imitating your skin. You’d leave a print on the glass of champagne if you wanted; if you planned on rummaging someone else’s office, leaving a trace was a different case and you wouldn’t take any risks.

Systematically starting on the right from the door and working your way through everything that looked even remotely like a possible hideout, you didn’t forget to gingerly place your palm over the wall-length closet so Friday could run scans.

God, you loved that Tony Stark was on the side of the angels despite not quite being one himself; according to him at least.

“No signs of anything else than overpriced shirts, tuxedos and sets for dom-sub play,” the AI announced, barely audible, and you cringed. Not what you needed to know. “Cuffs are men’s size. Dominatrix set for a wom-“

“Enough, enough! Gee, Friday…” you muttered under your breath, not liking the visual of Wagner in the middle of enjoying-

Gross.

“No need for that much detail…”

Shaking your head, you moved onto the desk; an obvious, perhaps too obvious choice, which was why you wouldn’t place your bet on it. But hey, you could never be sure enough until you checked.

The sudden noise on your right had you drawing your gun at instant, your pulse skyrocketing.

The first thing you saw was a large frame of the newcomer and neatly combed blond hair. Your shoulders slumped.

Steve raised his hands as he moved from the doorway to stand inside, his face visibly relaxing at the sight of you searching another man’s desk.

The door clicked shut behind him and you forced yourself to breathe in, shoving your gun back to the holster placed on your covered thigh.

“Jesus, Steve!” you whisper-yelled exasperatedly and resumed your inspection, paying him no mind anymore. You had more important things to do at the moment; not that you wouldn’t do him; Steve in a tux was sight to behold, like hold onto THAT, literally get your hands on it, but you were here for a job.

“You weren’t responding!” Steve replied in the same manner, causing you to freeze.

He had been trying to contact you? And you couldn’t hear him? But-

“Oh,” you let out intelligently, doing the math easily. “He must have some sort of a jammer in here, makes sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I’m fine,” you stated, shutting one drawer, opening another. “How did you even ge– never mind. You should go-“

“Don’t wanna cloooose my eyeees!”

The distant howl-like shout from the hall turned your blood into ice, your eyes widening.

You had studied Wagner the whole evening; you’d recognize his voice anywhere, even when he was singing ‘I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing’ out of tune.

“-before THAT happens! Shit!”

As you pulled out your phone, the live-feed from the camera in the hall offered you a marvellous view.

Two gorilla-men were dragging Wagner towards his room as his feet barely kept him standing. Gorilla number three was walking behind them just in case that their boss’ face decided to meet the floor despite the support offered to him.

Shit, shit, SHIT-

Closing the drawer you were currently scouring, lips pressed into a tight line, you eyed Steve; he was already bracing himself for the fight, caught in the middle of the process of discarding the jacket to have wider range of movements.

You whined internally – firstly, what a sight, it would always make you weak in knees no matter what. Secondly, if this was to end in a fight, the chances were that you’d make it out without the plans and you had spent the night in those killer heels for nothing.

Oh no, you don’t-

“Cause I’d miss ya’ BABY—I don’t wanna miss a THIIIIING!”

Scanning the room once more, your mind running hundred miles a minute, your gaze fell on the huge-ass closet of which contents you had learned more than you’d like to.

Your lips parted in surprise at the plan forming in your own head.

This is a terrible idea.

It’s yours!

Exactly.

Yeah, okay, fair enough-

NO TIME TO COME UP WITH A BETTER ONE-

Steve was kind enough to follow when you grabbed his arm and pulled him from his spot in the middle of the room, though he did shoot you an utterly confused look.

You met his eyes and gulped when the singing approached the room way too quickly to your liking.

“STILL MISS YA’ BABY–“

“I need you to trust me now,” you pleaded in hushed tone, seeing Steve’s pupils go wide, covering the somewhat always warm blue of his irises.

“With what?”

Well, he asked for it.

“Get in the closet, now!”

A second of shocked silence followed your request before his brain made the connection and a scowl twisted his handsome face.

“What? No! I’m not leaving you alone to face them!” he raised his voice minutely and you covered his mouth to remind him that there were ears present, inching closer with each second passing.

“DON’T WANNA FAAAAALL ASLEEEEEEP-!”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do! That’s easier to play off.”

Steve very much not agreed if his eyes flashing with anger were anything to go by. His hand pushed yours away as he towered over you.

“I’m not leaving-“

“Look at the gorillas, Steve!” you shoved the phone to his face, unlocking the closet and throwing its door open. “One word from them to the rest of security and we’re screwed. Get in!”  

Something between a whine, a groan and a growl – neither of those sounds sexy given the circumstances – escaped his lips and you assumed he had to admit to himself that you were right.

Taking a mental note of his resistance diminishing, you easily pushed him towards the limited dark space.

“CAUSE EEEEEVEN WHEN I DREAM OF YOOOOOOOU- THE SWEETEST DREAM WILL NEEEVER DOOOOOO-“

“We can still play it off toge-“ he tried to protest one more time but you pushed against his chest adamantly.

“And say what? This isn’t what it looks like? We just happened to choose your office to get freaky? I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

Steve gave you his unfairly disarming pleading look, his puppy eyesTM, but backed into the closet without another word, clutching his previously stripped jacket to his chest, because he did trust you.

Fingers on the handle, you hesitated when you realized what could ruin the charade you came up with and planned on pulling off.

Swallowing hard at the terrible idea, you gave Steve a tiny encouraging smile as you drew your gun and three knives from your leg holster/sheath and pressed it to his hands.

“Hold these for me.”

Swiftly closing the door, the last thing you saw was the horror on his face.

As the door swung open and you spun on your heels, he had no chance to react.

The loud song which had been reaching your ears for seemingly endless time died on Wagner’s lips and the third extra gorilla of a man behind him instantly pulled out his gun.

And aimed it right at your face. While you had nothing to defend yourself but your bare hands.

Yay.

“Who are you?!” he thundered and like a charm, Wagner stood straight so the other two guards could have you at gunpoint as well.

Yet, what sent an unpleasant shiver through you was Wagner’s sleazy eyes travelling from your killer heels to your ankles, up to your partly exposed thigh, your waist and finally settling on your cleavage, not bothering to make it higher to look into your eyes.

So. He’s a pig. Shocker.

For once, you were grateful. Not that he was supposed to know that.

A sweet innocent smile spread on your lips as you eyed the weapons with what seemed to be almost a satisfaction, you hoped.

“A government agent, of course,” you said, voice pitched just a bit higher than usual. You felt a bit sorry for Steve at the moment; you were well-aware of nearly giving him a heart attack by saying that. “I work with Captain America.” Scratch the ‘nearly’. Poor Steve’s heart. “I was given the task to scour this place… very… thoroughly.”

Your tone husky now, your teeth bit down on your lower lip, your eyes watching Wagner with faked interest. He hypnotized your red lips before shaking his head as if snapping from a haze.

“They told me you’ve been a bad, bad man. I kept my eye on you all evening,” you admitted, not even having to lie.

The following smile you sent his direction was perhaps too predatory, but that could work. For him anyway.

“Who do you work for?!”

The guards were not as easily fooled as their drunk boss apparently; then again, you hadn’t expected them to.  

“Oh. A.R.M.O.R. America-Related Manpower Operatives and Reinforcements.” God bless their hearts if they were going to buy that, seeing you were obviously trying to imitate the SHIEILD acronym. Very poorly. Playing it up, you let a giggle escape you before your expression turned serious, guilty even. “Oh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s only my first time, you see. I finished my training few days ago.”

“Mm… look at ‘dat…” Wagner drawled and nope, it had nothing on the way Steve spoke when his accent peeked through while he was drunk on Asgardian liquor or lust alone.

Not relevant.

Wagner waved off his guard dogs, gesturing to one of them to approach you. “Why don’t we search you first?”

“Make it quick. I have…” you let your eyes trail over Wagner’s body, licking your lips when visibly lingering on his crotch, “more important tasks at hand. I came here for a mission. I’d like it to… finish.”

Two men instantly went to inspect you, patting you from the back, from the front, up and down, way longer and more thoroughly than necessary.

And they found what they were looking for.

One large palm harshly slipped between your thighs and you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to throw up at the pawing.

Gorilla One’s head snapping up to you, he pulled out the only weapon left on you, handing it to his boss and Gorilla Two grabbed your wrists and locked it behind your back, causing you to nearly hiss in pain.

“Oops,” you shrugged instead, burning gaze locked onto the man who was holding both your weapon and your life in his hands.

Your heart was beating frantically in anticipation, your confidence wavering as Wagner inspected the knife.

A slow smile spread on his face, his left eyebrow rising and then he finally, finally burst out laughing.

A confused ‘what’ sounded from behind you as the man’s utterly smashed boss howled in hysterical laughter.

“This—this is GOL-DEN!” he choked out, tossing the item to the very man who had handed it to him.

“It’s a stage-prop,” Gorilla One sighed.

And that it was. Thank you, Natasha Romanoff.

“Oh. So it’s fake.”

“Told you I have more important things at hand… so if—my hands could find some release please…” you asked sweetly over your shoulder. The very next second, you remembered just what was in the closet; and you weren’t thinking Steve. So you switched tactics. “That’s an order, actually. Let. Me. Go.”

“What the agent said, Greg,” Wagner beckoned, still chuckling, a new twinkle appearing in his eye, his face free of mistrust. Gorilla Two, Greg apparently, released your hands with reluctance. You didn’t bother thanking him. “And let her work. Off you go.”

When the gorillas wavered for few moments, you felt your impatience grow along with the pain shooting up your calves. Damn heels.

“Have you not heard your superior? Do I need to teach you some discipline?”

Wagner licked his lips, taking two wobbly steps towards you. It seemed to seal the deal for the guards, because they left the room.

“Someone went out of their way to get you… Must be my birthday then,” he grinned sleazily, his fingers twitching as if he craved to touch you, his hands stopping few inches from your hip. “I’m all  yours, agent. Why don’t you go on with the… thorough inspection?”

Straightening your posture, chin stuck up, you nodded curtly.

“Of course. Sir, I’ll have to ask you to raise your hands to your head. Don’t move otherwise. I’m gonna feel for weapons now.”

“Yes, madam,” he responded breathlessly, but the second you started the process, his hand landed on your hip.

You stopped in your search, locking serious gaze with him. His pupils were blown, eyes dark with lust. His fingers squeezed, his gaze flickering to your mouth as you stood nearly chest to chest.

“Sir, this is highly inappropriate. I’m gonna have to ask you-“

His palm slid to your bottom, fingers digging into the flesh.

You narrowed your eyes, not even having to pretend you didn’t like that. You slapped his hand away, earning a sly grin. He didn’t try again immediately, which you were endlessly grateful for. Instead, he obediently raised his arms so he looked ready to be either searched or crucified.

Oh, you’d gladly.

“Sorry, Agent, I couldn’t help myself. What is such… pretty face like yourself doing in business like this?” he questioned in a husky voice and at that moment, you knew that your time spent around Tony Stark had taken its toll on you, because you simply couldn’t resist that pass.

“Stealing intel from pricks like you,” you mumbled under your breath, giving him just enough time to realize something was wrong.

A fraction of second later, the edge of your hand hit his throat, bruising his larynx and causing him to release a shocked huff of air. Kicking his knee next, your elbow met his face. A choked groan escaped his lips and you prayed to god he didn’t truly find his voice to call the guards.

You elbowed him in his right temple for a good measure, incapacitating his other knee so he nearly sunk to the floor. You slipped around him in one swift movement; your arm sneaked around his throat and cut out his airways.

Too stunned, he barely fought you and you felt all tension leave his muscles in no time.

Wagner’s body hit the ground as he slipped through your hands despite your best efforts. You winced at the thud shaking the floor; you quickly giggled loudly, playing it off as a drunken fun-time shenanigans. Just in case the guards were still at the door.

Satisfied and relieved when no one burst in with guns blazing, you walked to the closet, losing those damned stilettos on the way.

As soon as you unlocked the closet, Steve nearly hit you with the door when abruptly leaving the limited space. His eyes scanned you head to toe to find any sign of an injury, the flames in his glare fading only a bit when he found none.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” he whisper-yelled and despite the circumstances, you couldn’t but giggle, this time from honest amusement as he proved your earlier thoughts right.

There we go…

“Worked, didn’t it? Now help me since you’re here, he’s fucking heavy…”

Steve gave you an incredulous look, one promising a storm coming once you had the time for it, but he went to pick Wagner’s body up without protest.

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Steve was kind enough to have you use the bathroom first, so by the time he emerged – around half past three a.m. – you were already tucked in bed, waiting for him. His feet shuffled against the floor and he seemed utterly spent, as if he had been fighting an army from space.

You had both left the party unharmed; then again, you could imagine that socializing the way he had had to could be as tiring as an alien invasion itself. Also, he had been the one leave Wagner office-bedroom through the window, while you simply walked out of the room, winking at the guards who had indeed stayed by the door.

Steve slipped under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp, the warm light replaced by inviting darkness. Your eyelids felt heavy after the long night and you couldn’t wait to enter the blissful land of sleep.

Having Steve’s arms around you, a pleasant habit of his, you knew you’d be out in no time, but you made the effort to shift further into his embrace, sighing in content and murmuring ‘goodnight’.  

Already halfway out as soon as you closed your eyes, you still registered his arm winding tighter around your waist, his nose pressed to your nape. A deep inhale, then another, warm breath and his lips inching closer with each second.

Pulled out of your slumber, limbs already heavy and yet floaty, half-hearted question left your lips.

“You ‘kay?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his foot wedging between yours to pull you impossibly closer, his exhale long and wavering.

The tremble in it alarmed you, urging you to check up on his expression, on him. Willing your body to move, your heart skipped a startled beat when he wouldn’t let you turn around.

“That didn’t sound-“

His fingers wormed its way under your side laid on the mattress, flexing on the flesh of your waist.

“I’m fine….” Bullshit. “It’s just… you have no idea how hard it was to stay put while listening to all that, do you?”

Eyelashes fluttering in surprise, you took in his words, the subtle taste of fear in them, concern for how your abrupt plan could have easily go awry.

You allowed yourself a few moments before responding, forcing your memories, the images of you helplessly lying pinned to the ground after you saw a building explode – a building with Steve still in it – out of your mind.

“I… I think I can imagine. I’m sorry. I came up with an idea and thought it was for the best,” you whispered.

Honestly, you were still convinced that it had been the best thing to do given the circumstances, but that was momentarily beside the point.

“You literally told him you worked with me. I swear to God- I–“

Hearing the shift in his voice, a different emotion interfering – the pure horror, laced with exasperation – you softened your next words even further, running your fingertips over the back of his hand coaxingly.

Without any real hope, you attempted to turn in his firm embrace; this time, he reluctantly let you, your palms instantly trapping his miserable face.

“Hey. Hey, Steve, it’s fine. We handled it. We’re good. I just remembered Friday told me that he was a kinky bastard-“ Steve nudged you at the word and you fought hard the eye-roll he had coming at that “-and decided to use it.”

“You gave me your weapons and went against him empty-handed– never ever do that again,” he demanded, voice equally pleading and firm. You couldn’t help but nudge him back, because in your line of work, promising that technically equalled lying. “If there is any other option.”

You sighed, understanding all too well how he was feeling, willing to promise the latter to ease his mind. And to erase the worried wrinkles on his forehead. You kissed him there, the tension resolving under your loving gesture.

“Noted. I didn’t do that to get off, to have a high.“ Unlike some people, who seemed to do that sometimes. "I promise.”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve said, having the decency to add an edge of guilt to his voice, your verbal call for hypocrisy not going unnoticed. He kissed your left collarbone, tender and greedy, his lips sliding an inch lower to faintly feel your heartbeat and lingering.

“You know me well,“ you stated, running your fingers through his still damp locks, musing. "It’s… nice. Not as scary as I expected once.”

“Thanks…?” he murmured against your skin unsurely and you chuckled, a tired but oh so content sound.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, heavy-lidded eyes boring into yours, finding your lips with his to deliver a lazy but heartfelt kiss, one you felt reaching your very soul.

Shifting so your head was tucked under his chin, you nestled into the most comfortable position possible and Steve hummed into your hair, once more pulling your body against his, not an inch of space left between you. You melted into his warmth and finally, you felt his muscles fully relax as well.

As you once more walked the fine line of dozing off, a sudden thought caused you to snap your eyes open, your heart skipping a curious beat.

“Steve?” An absent hum was his only response, but encouraged by any reaction at all, you continued, knowing that you wouldn’t fall asleep without having the answer. “When you said it was hard… you weren’t referring to a… certain situation of yours, right? … or were you?”

Even with his body turning rigid, a rock-solid prove he was fully awake, he put effort into sounding sleepy.

“Just go to sleep, woman.”

“…were you?! Do you want me to… do some thorough inspection of y-“ you teased, fascinated, never finishing your thought as Steve’s large palm covered your mouth.

You resisted the urge to release the surprised laugh bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t that you thought Steve’s desire was ridiculous; you were just that amazed that it never came up; a true wonder given your line of work.

Momentarily incapacitated, you didn’t speak, but grazed your teeth over his palm so he would release you.

“Hush!”

“ ’khay-“ You muttered and he removed his palm, sleepy blue watching you in warning. You strained your neck to kiss the previously teased skin of his hand. “We’ll explore that another time. I’m beat. Still love you. Goodnight.”

With that, you curled back into his body, feeling the wide expand of his chest followed by an exasperated puff.

“Goodnight, you maniac. I love you too.”

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Pins and needles in your toes ripped you harshly from the dreamland and you groaned quietly, rescuing your foot from the vice created by Steve’s own.

Shared sleep was blissful, releasing endorphins, the feelings of comfort and safety it provided irreplaceable and all that, but having your limb pinned to the mattress by a supersoldier was no joke.

You checked the clock on the nightstand; 8:27 AM. Sparing a glance at the man sleeping beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, palm sprawled over our abdomen, you smiled despite the early hour.

Any other morning, you would have shaken off the cramp and scooted over to get even closer to Steve; however, determined to do something nice for him and make sure he was alright with what he had clearly considered an irresponsible stunt of yours yesterday, you thanked heavens for the unexpected get-up call and planned on wiggling out of Steve’s grasp.

“Where ya’ goin’?” he mumbled sleepily, the inches you had managed to put between your bodies erased as his arm pulled you back, his nose nuzzling your hair with a sigh.

“Bathroom,” you lied easily, lightly patting his forearm. “We’ve barely slept for five hours. You still have thirty minutes till your usual start of the post-mission day, you crazy-ass lark. I’ll be right back.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll be waitin’.”

Chuckling silently, you freed yourself fully, this time without his protests.

“I’m sure you will, Steve,” you whispered, your smile widening when only ten seconds later, your words were followed by his quiet snort.

Grabbing one of Steve’s hoodies thrown over the backrest of a chair and sliding into it, you made your way to the communal kitchen instead. Your mission was to make Steve breakfast, secretly hoping you could talk him into skipping the usual run today and actually spending a day in bed. You thwarted big bad’s plans yesterday, for god’s sake, you both deserved a break…

As a reminder of the past events, a bruise the size of a boot on your thigh – which you didn’t remember getting – stared accusingly at you when you passed a mirror. You inconspicuously pulled the hem of Steve’s hoodie an inch lower in attempt to cover it. Vainly.

Rolling your eyes, you wondered just how nice you needed to be today; Steve had seemed more freaked out than anything else; nevertheless, the anger could come today and you rather if it didn’t.

Deciding pancakes, eggs and bacon were a safe bet, you hummed and opened the fridge.

It was the exact moment something caught you eye, a change in decorum; right above your head on the top of the fridge.

A big fat zero stared at you from the sign you had got Steve a while ago, a memorandum of your first first-hand experience of his utter recklessness on missions. Ever since then, you and the rest of the team made sure to have the board up-to-date, sometimes proudly and sometimes regretfully rewriting the number of ‘days without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’.

Now there was a zero. Your jaw went slack, your heartbeat skyrocketing.

It was not the only change on the sign.

Someone, and you had a very good idea who that might be (hint: he was sleeping in your bed), plastered your name over Steve’s.

Your smile froze on your lips and at that moment, you could have been knocked out with a feather.

Unbelievable.

Un-fucking-believable.

Shutting the fridge with a loud thud, bottles in its door clinking, you strode back to your shared room, sputtering curses.

The audacity of him!

When had he even- how had he done– all night— you had woken up before him-!

Forget pancakes, eggs and bacon; snark was on the menu today.

“STEVEEEEEN!”

You heard his laughter before you even reached the bedroom.

Looking at the bright sight of things, Steve being a little shit was a positive shift from his late-night anxiety. A brief smile crossed over your face before you stormed into the room, finding the blond culprit muffling his chuckles in a pillow.

Your pillow.

Jumping to the bed, you grabbed his own and opted to show him just how stupid you could get.

Because trying to take down a supersoldier in a pillow fight? The zero might have to stay on the board for one extra day.

As Steve’s carefree laughter echoed within the walls of your bedroom, filling you with pure joy, you decided you could live with that.

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If you’d like to know the origin of the board, I kindly point you towards my S.R. masterlist, specifically to Challenge Accepted…? Fair warning: it has more drama than this one.

Thank you for reading! ❤️

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I Didn’t Mistake Your Finger for the Moon, I Just Chose to Look at You Instead

Tim Drake x Reader Oneshot

The title comes from zen buddhism (maybe chinese? i’m sorry I don’t know), the idea is I am pointing my finger at the moon to show you the moon don’t look at my pointed finger, look where I’m pointing.

Heavily inspired by the play Frankie and Johnnie in the Claire de Lune

***

You can’t believe it’s only 8:30pm, just two hours into the night and you’re already bored out of your skull. Around you, the huge ballroom swirls with sparkling socialites keeping themselves busy by incessantly talking shit and guzzling Bruce Wayne’s alcohol. Everybody has their lips to someone’s ear and a glass in their hand, except for you, which is quite stupid on your part. But that’s why you’re at the bar. 

Behind you, the positively charming laughs of the Wayne Gala’s guests dot the conversations that spill out through the room in concentric circles, rippling over each other in waves that ebb and flow right up until they reach you. Then they stop short, leaving you alone and trying to order a drink from a bartender who seems to be too busy to chat you up out of pity.

Not that you’d do anything with her, obviously. But still. Some attention would be nice.

Christ, you were so shit at knowing what to do with yourself at these parties. You’d think you’d have them figured out by now, but no such luck. Your funeral.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?”

You turn to face the speaker and your eyes fall on Dick Grayson, dressed gorgeous in a sharp suit complete with a dark blue bow tie. He looks incredible, but then again, he usually does. And miracle of miracles, the folks around you are now eyeing you up, trying to figure out if it’s worth skydiving into your conversation to get in a word with Bruce Wayne’s heir. Dick does that to people, has the sort of happy, positive demeanor that makes folks want desperately to talk to him, to be part of his group. You’ll probably never get used to it. Or to how beautiful he is.

“Yeah.” Yeah, you know where Tim is. You resist the urge to point across the ballroom, motioning with your chin instead. “He’s over there, schmoozing with some LexCorp folks.”

“Schmoozing? With LexCorp?” Dick’s face takes on a slightly disgusted hue in the light of the chandeliers.

You shrug. “Schmoozing, making thinly veiled threats, planting the seeds for some light corporate espionage, but not the sort anyone can prove. You know Tim.”

Dick chuckles at that. “I guess I do.” He takes a step away from you, then doubles back. “Are you all right, over here? You look a bit...”

“You can say lonely, Dick, it’s okay,” you say with a bit of bite, too many teeth in your voice, but he’s not wrong. “I’m fine, you don’t need to babysit me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Jeez, y/n, I didn’t mean--”

You cut him off. “No, it’s fine Dick, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” You press a hand to the bridge of your nose and try to take deep breaths. Starting a fight with your boyfriend’s oldest brother is not exactly on your to-do list for the evening. “I am a bit lonely, but it’s cool, I get Tim back in...” you check your watch, a cheap analogue that clashes something awful with your cheesed-up attire. “Eight in a half minutes. Then he’s mine for at least an hour.”

Dick quirks his lips in a half-smile. “You guys time how long he spends doing W.E. business at these galas? That’s--”

“Adorable? Or just anal?” Try as you might, you can’t keep the cynicism from spreading thick over your tone.

“I was actually going to say very Tim,” he says back warmly. You grin at him, bad mood abandoning you for the moment. “It was his idea. Wouldn’t be much of a date if we didn’t spend any time together.”

Dick laughs again. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Across the room, Tim turns away from the circle of business harpies and shoots you an apologetic smile. Dick must’ve clocked it as well. “Maybe Tim’ll turn knight-in-shining-armor and rescue you,” he suggests.

You wrinkle your nose. “I doubt it. As much as I don’t like it, the business stuff needs to get done.”

Dick eyes Tim’s back. “Yeah, something tells me you’d be the one doing the rescuing.” He clears his throat. “Well, I hate to be rude, but I gotta skip out on you.” Dick’s down-to-earth manner of speaking always surprises you, especially because he manages to get away with it at these swanky events. When you do it everyone seems to look at you sideways. “Need to go find Damian,” Dick explains further. “If he’s not antagonizing your boyfriend, he may be up to something worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

He sighs. “Yeah, wish me luck.” And then Dick makes his exit, leaving you with seven and a half minutes to wallow before Tim comes back.

You chide yourself a bit, picking up the Gin and Tonic that the bartender had just placed in front of you. Were you seriously going to wallow in self pity at a gala half of Gotham would kill to attend? With Tim Drake as your date? Hundreds of girls and quite a few boys probably daydream about being in your place, especially after he made the Forbes Thirty under Thirty list last month. Still, his spot on the list doesn’t change the fact that exactly no one at this party, striking Dick and the bartender, has said a single word to you.

You stifle a sigh. It isn’t your fault Gotham’s socialites always prove to be uninterested in Timothy Drake’s thoroughly middle-class girlfriend. They had found you just fascinating when the relationship was new and Tim’s move of dating so far below his class had actually made headlines. But, six months later, your novelty had worn clean off. God, you wished you had someone to talk to. You were feeling so small.

Swallowing a sip of G&T, you think back to your first gala at the Manor. The glitter and glamour of the evening had left you breathless, whereas now it’s making you sick. Some parts of the evening never seem to go stale, though. You still love playing dress up in gorgeous clothes and parading around with your boyfriend, who was also dressed up in gorgeous clothes. Tim usually bought your dresses for these events, since there was no way on the planet you could afford them. You’d gotten used to Tim being stupid rich early in your relationship, and it doesn’t bother you that you can never match him in the money department. 

Occasionally, Tim likes to spoil you, although neither of you are too keen on outrageous gifts that are ultimately useless. He tends to avoid getting you things that are overpriced and unnecessary. (Cheap and unnecessary is where you operate. The two of you are currently having a competition over who could get the other the smallest, most useless gift for under two dollars. Your last gift to him had been a yellow plastic shovel that fits in the palm of your hand)

Tim doesn’t like buying expensive, frivolous things on principle, and you don’t like receiving them, also on principle. But if you’re going to attend these galas, you need an expensive dress point-blank, otherwise you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. And you want to attend, you want to be Tim’s girlfriend, public appearances and all. So Tim just has to buy you the dresses, which you secretly love because they’re gorgeous, and you have to accept them, because you can’t attend the gala without them. It’s a neat way for Tim to give you something expensive and make sure you’ll have a need for it. Plus, you know he loves seeing you wear the clothes he’s bought you.

Tonight, however, you’re not wearing one of Tim’s Vera Wang’s or Alexander McQueen’s. You’ve opted instead on something you’d bought yourself, a bridesmaid’s dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding earlier this year. It just about fits in with everyone else’s attire, and besides, the dress was expensive. You wanted to wear it at least twice. A great plan, except it isn’t as beautiful as some of the other dresses in the room tonight. You’ve recognized more than one from a runway fashion account you follow on Instagram. Nice as your dress may be, it can’t compare with any of those, and every time you see an exceptionally beautiful gown you wonder what you were thinking, wearing a dress like this.

The negative buzzing in your ears dissipates as you catch Tim’s eye again. He’s got the same stupid look on his face he’d worn when he picked you up this evening. Like he’d been punched but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Are you sure you’re my date for tonight?” he’d whispered, after doing a cartoonish double-take at the door of your apartment, because he really is a good boyfriend. “I’m not sure other people will believe it.”

“Of course they will,” you’d scoffed, cheeks glowing at the compliment. “We look good together. You’re pretty stunning yourself.”

He’d look down at his own clothes with a worried expression. “Really?” Following your advice and urging, Tim had stepped out of his comfort zone tonight and was sporting a patterned tux. It’s a dark blue checked with thin black stripes, waistcoat and bow-tie to match. “I think I look like Al Capone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look very dapper.” You had taken his hand, then, smiling up at him and leading him out of your apartment. “Charming, even.”

“If Jason’s there he’ll make fun of me. Damian definitely will.”

“They were going to do that anyway. And besides, who cares? I think you look great.”

“I guess you’re the only one that matters.”

“Damn straight.”

He really does look incredible tonight, you think to yourself as you check him out from your position at the bar. Nothing short of beautiful, with the long lines of the tux sitting pretty on his sinuous, willowy limbs and gorgeous frame. His shoulders are holding strong under the fine material of his jacket, and presiding over everything are his sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes. Which, you note in satisfaction, are now fixed on you as Tim extricates himself from the suits and makes his way to the bar.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks, plopping down next to you and casually hooking a foot around your ankle.

“Nope,” you smile happily, thrilled to be spending time with him again. “I was saving it for you, and as you can see, I had to really fight to keep it free.” You motion around yourself to the people ignoring you. 

Tim winces. “I’m sorry, y/n, if I could do anything--”

“Stop, stop,” you wave him silent. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now, it’s okay,” you reassure him.

“I don’t like that you end up spending so much time alone at these things,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “If you even think I’m going to let you come to this thing by yourself,” you say, shaking your head. “Some of the other ones, maybe, but if I don’t make an appearance at The Wayne Gala, capital T, W, and G, the public will think I’m out of the picture.”

“Defending your territory, huh?” Tim grins sidelong at you. “Keeping the society pages off my back, more like.” You shift in your seat, sensing an opportunity. “But maybe I am defending my territory, hmm?” You give him an obvious once over, let lust show in your gaze. “Maybe you’re too pretty to let out of my sight.”

He flushes, color overrunning his cheeks and spilling down his neck and making him look even more edible. You let out a breath. “God, Tim, I could just...” you lean over, easily catching his lips with yours. Holding him there for a just a second, you run your tongue quick over his bottom lip and then pull back, spending a few moments just looking at him, with him looking back. 

You wait for some of the sparkling energy to fade before you speak again. “It’s important to me that you know I’m here to support you as acting CEO.”

He laughs at that, spell broken. “I know sweetheart.” He turns from you to order a drink. “I’m very proud of you,” you say to his back. He rolls his eyes at you over his shoulder.

The bartender makes the drink inside of twenty seconds, because Tim Drake asked for it, and then your boyfriend spends a few more moments staring at you, taking the glass in his hand and eyeing you over the rim.

You meet his gaze. “What are you thinking?” He presses a finger to his ear. “Going off comms,” he murmurs, then surreptitiously fishes the device out of his ear and stows it in his pocket. If you hadn’t known what to look for you would swear he was just running his fingers through his hair and then brushing some lint off of his suit.

“If I’m honest, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about eating you out.”

...what?

It takes a moment for his words to connect to your brain. Then--

“Tim!” you squawk, eyes darting around to make sure no one had overheard you. “You can’t just say that to me in public!”

His eyes meet yours, he looks unimpressed. Tim never has any patience for your prudishness whenever he brings up sex with other people around. “What can I say? The LexCorp people were boring,” and now he’s the one looking you over, eyes slowly working up and down your form. You shiver under his attention. “That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing, y/n, I think it would look great bunched up around your hips.”

God, confidence is such an irresistible look on him. Despite your better judgment, you decide to play along. Leaning closer, you let one hand ghost over his crotch, cupping him for half a moment as you say “and how do you think the dress will look on your bedroom floor?”

He gasps when you touch him, then smiles brilliantly, eyes shining. You really, really shouldn’t be encouraging him, but you can’t help it. You love him like this, you love the unrelenting force of his desire. You love how much he wants you. 

With Tim, you’ve found that once the idea of sex gets into his head and he sees that you’re game, he’s like a dog with a bone, gnawing and gnawing at you. There’s no stopping him in pursuit to get you into his bed, or car, or the nearest supply closet. And you always find yourself indulging him, because the sex is usually good, but the man himself is even better. You delight in seeing Tim aroused, because as soon as that switch is flipped, the self-control that Tim rigidly keeps in place disappears, and he becomes hypnotically impulsive with his emotions. It took some time for him to get the barriers down, for him to let loose around you, but now he allows himself to be everything all at once. An aroused Tim is playful, awkward, confident, shy, ridiculous, and enthusiastic. You never know what you’re going to get with him, and sometimes he flits from one affect to the other between moments, leaving you breathless.

And you’re more than happy to provide an arena for Tim to let loose, because the only time your boyfriend allows himself to be anything less than perfect is when he’s in your arms. Control rules Tim’s life in the form of some probably unhealthy idolatrous god. As he’s explained to you several times, yes, he actually does need to be this tightly wound, because if he makes a mistake he’ll lose clout at WE. Or he’ll be too slow at night. People will die (he will die.) Insert answer here. 

Which is all true, but it doesn’t mean Tim can’t take a fucking break once in a while. And that’s where you come in. Your boyfriend spends his whole life striving for perfection and punishing himself when he doesn’t reach it, but when he’s with you, he can be anything he wants. 

And one of the wonderful things about sleeping with Tim is so often you get to see everything he wants. Once he’s finally lost control, once you’ve convinced him to put the walls down, he’s like a kid in a candy store. He can do anything, and so he usually does everything.

“Christ,” he breathes in your ear, head still in your fleeting touch, one arm coming to rest on your back. “I think you’ve given me a semi.”

“That,” you say in a sing-song voice, absolutely delighted, “sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” You turn and pretend to walk away, but Tim catches hold of your arm, reeling you back towards him. “You can’t leave now, y/n,” he pleads, eyes dancing. “People are going to look at my crotch and see I’ve got a hard-on, and I can’t endure Cass making fun of me again. C’mon, y/n,” he pouts at you. “I’m your damsel in distress. Save me from the bullies. Dance with me so no one will see.”

You roll your eyes, but come to stand in front of him nonetheless, letting him lead you to the center for the room with his hands on your waist. This isn’t the first time a gala has bored Tim to sexual frustration. “People will still be able to see your crotch,” you argue. “We’ll just dance really, really close together.” As if to prove his point, he suddenly jerks your hips to his, and you all but fall against him. “The song is too fast for this kind of slow-dancing,” you say into his neck, false protests muffled by his suit.

He leans back to make eye contact with you as the two of you start swaying. “That doesn’t matter. We’re young lovers, y/n,” he reminds you seriously. “They’ll forgive us.”

“Young lovers, hmm?” You’re struck again by his confidence tonight, how alluring it is. It’s rare that he’s this sure of himself, but he wears it so well when he is.

“That’s right.” The two of you are silent for a moment, and you contemplate leaning your head against his chest. “You really do look beautiful in that dress, y/n,” Tim says quietly, all joking gone from his tone.

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you.” And then, because you’re immature, too, and because Tim isn’t the only one who can flash his sex drive in public, you impulsively say “I bet you can’t guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

This is probably a mistake, but what the hell. You want your boyfriend just as much as he wants you, maybe more.

Tim doesn’t even wait two full seconds before responding. “See, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I bet I can.” You weren’t expecting him to be so quick on the uptake, your mistake for thinking his boredom hadn’t already driven him to tackle this particular problem.

“It’s warm enough out that you’re not wearing any tights or pantyhose, so the suspender sets are out.”

“The suspender sets are out,” you repeat solemnly, already excited by this new game you’re playing. “Well, hang on, maybe I just wore a set without the suspenders.”

Tim is quick to shake his head. “No, you hate doing that, you’d rather just wear separate set altogether. It’s a set without the suspenders.”

You let out a low whistle. “Got me pegged there, detective.” You see an opportunity, and waggle your eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have you pegged, later.”

He falters in the slow waltz he’s leading you through. “Really not helping with the semi here, y/n” he complains, and he’s right, you can feel it pressing lightly against you. You roll your eyes. “Fine, let’s go back to you guessing what lingerie I’m wearing.”

He nods, only half joking. Tim loves a puzzle. “Thank you. So none of the suspenders.”

“So none of the suspenders,” you repeat again, and offer him a winning smile when he glares at you over it.

Explanatory monologue in full swing, he says “You normally like to match your dress, but this one’s black, which isn’t very helpful.” All of a sudden his attention shifts and comes to rest on your face. “Are you going to tell me if I get it right, or will I just have to wait and see?”

“What would make it better for you, baby?” you ask, voice sultry as you slide your hips against his.

“I have absolutely no idea. Is it the red one?” 

“Nope!”

“Damn. I love the red one.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.”

He pouts at you, but quickly perks up again. “Here, hang on, I’m going to risk exposing my erection so I can get a better view of your back,” and suddenly you’re spinning, once, twice, three times, before Tim pulls you back to his chest and dips you as the song ends. You’re panting a bit in surprise, and from your position suspended in his strong arms, you can feel one of his hands pawing around at your hip, smoothing over the fabric of your dress.

He pulls you upright as another song begins, a grimace on his handsome face. You reach up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. “That was inconclusive,” he mutters.

You glance over his shoulder. “I think Bruce definitely got a good look at what’s going on down south.” Your boyfriend’s father is looking rather pointedly at the ground, a pained look on his face.

“I could barely see the lines of the set through your dress,” Tim complains, and then adds “Bruce’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Whatever,” he says dismissively. “Last week I walked in on Selina blowing him under his desk, so now we’re even. What’s way more important is that I couldn’t see anything, why couldn’t I see anything?”

“Aww, poor baby,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, before brightening a bit. “I mean, it wasn’t a total loss. I did get a great view of your ass. It still looks fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks for the update.”

He keeps going. “I didn’t see the lines, but I did get a good feel of your underwear at your hip.” He plants his tongue between his teeth, eyes closed in concentration as you sway delicately to the new song. “I didn’t feel a strap, so I can rule out some of the thongs.” You hum in agreement, arms coming up to wrap securely around his torso in an extended embrace. “It isn’t either of the black ones, or the nice blue one, is it?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

“Hn.” He shifts his arms, and you feel his slight hand flitting about at your hip again. He soon gives up, discouraged. “The material of your dress is too thick, I can’t feel anything through it.”

You decide to throw him a bone. “I’ll give you a hint: I’m actually wearing another color besides black, and the set matches it.”

Tim frowns, stepping back from you for a moment to look down at your feet. “Your shoes are black too, what are you talking about?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to ruin it for you?”

“No, let me think,” Tim says, and goes silent, eyes shut. You study him as the actual detective comes out to play. His eyes snap open again, and you clock his gaze going for your throat and ears. No necklace, but you are wearing gold earrings. Tim ignores them and takes your hand in his, examining your rings. He knows you too well to ask whether the set is gold or silver, that isn’t your style. He’s getting much closer with the rings though, and then his sharp exhale is ghosting through your fingers and his eyes are meeting yours again. You give him a proud smile.

“Good solve, Timmy.” He kisses the pad of your index finger. “Nail polish, y/n?”

“Nail polish,” you confirm.

“Why?”

You pretend to think it over, letting your eyes go wide. “Well, I just thought it would look nice, you know? My hand right over the panties, maybe even inside them, if you wanted me to do any of the work on my own.”

His eyes just about bug out of his head at that, and then he shakes his smile back and forth, impressed. Your answering grin is knife sharp. “You’ve got me right where you want me, don’t you, y/n? What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” you whisper, winding your arms around his neck. “That’s sort of the point. We can get out of here right now.”

“You know I would love, love, to do that,” Tim says, running his hands down your back, “but there’s supposedly a deal going down at 9:30 that I kind of need to be there for.”

“Well, then,” you murmur, “you’ll just have to suffer for another twenty minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says drily. The two of you sway in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. “Hold on, y/n, something just occurred to me.”

“Yes, Tim?”

“Your nail polish is purple, but you don’t own any sets that color. What gives?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. He looks at you for a few moments before his face smooths out again. “You really have it in for me tonight, don’t you? It’s a new set?”

“It’s a new set,” you confirm.

“And I bet you look just stellar in purple,” he says to himself, a desperate edge to his voice. 

“You know very well I look good in everything.” You glance downwards. “How are you doing there, Timmy?”

“Fuck off,” he says happily. “Is it lace?”

“Tim, sweetheart, of course it’s lace.”

Your boyfriend groans, then freezes in place. You look at him questioningly. “I’m running a cost/benefit analysis on me skipping out on this deal.”

“Give it to Tam,” you suggest.

“Give it to Tam,” he agrees. “Yeah, alright, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You let out a delighted laugh, following him in the direction of his old bedroom in the manor. Behind you, you dimly hear the orchestra finish their song. There are a few moments of silence while you make your way to the exit, and then you hear a few forlorn notes on the piano that have you turning around and calling out “Tim!”

“Whoa, y/n, where are you--”

“Tim! Tim it’s Claire de Lune, they’re playing Claire de Lune, we have to stay!” You drag him back to the dance floor.

“But,” he tries to argue, “but y/n, we were going to--”

“Tim.” You stand your ground. “It’s Claire de Lune. Please?”

He mumbles under his breath but takes you back into his arms regardless, like the good boyfriend that he is. You adore the Claire de Lune, and he’s probably reasoned to himself that no amount of arguing or pleading could tear you from the melody spinning lazily through the room.

He’s still going to complain about it, though. “Claire de Lune, huh? I can’t believe I lived to see Twilight cock-blocking me again.”

You poke him in the side. “Some of us first heard Debussy at the Gotham Philharmonic and some of us read about him in Stephanie Meyers’ blockbuster paranormal romance and googled Claire de Lune on the family computer in their Dad’s office, okay? The important thing is we’re both here, and we can both appreciate it, so shut up.”

Tim shuts up. You smile at him, and let your eyes fall closed. The slow melody envelops you like mist and settles on your skin, resting easy in your inner ear. A small part of you anticipates the notes before the pianist actually plays them, and you find yourself nodding when they finally escape from her fingers. Her performance is perfect, she isn’t messing around trying to improve Debussy’s masterwork, just picking her way through it, measure by measure. You take deep, even breaths as a sense of calm permeates your system. Eyes still closed, you let the music relax you, content to wade dreamily in its cool comfort. 

After about a minute, Tim clears his throat. “Y/n,” he says gently, “look.” You open your eyes and follow Tim’s pointed finger to one of the floor-length windows, gasping out loud when you see the stunning full moon. It sits in an overcast sky, fog and smog and clouds pressing against it like an embrace. The thin ropey clouds that drift across its slouched figure are reflecting its yellow light and giving it a warm, pearly corona, a halo. You stare at it openly for a few seconds, admiring the bone moon in its sky armchair.

Your attention drifts back to Tim’s finger, arm still hanging loosely in front of you, and then to the man himself. The ballroom lights are low enough that you can imagine the moonlight reflecting off of Tim, too, that he too is catching some of its cotton shine on his face. You’re awfully lucky to be with someone who takes the time to point out a particular moon among of a string of nights with particular moons, and you tell him so. Tim’s smile is quiet, but he presses his forehead to yours, where it stays for the rest of the song.

When it ends Tim leans back to smile at you again. You smile back, feeling filled up with the moon and the music and him. Catching his hand in your own, you start in the direction of the grand staircase that leads up to his old bedroom. Tim stops you by pulling on your arm lightly, before turning and walking towards the doors that will take you outside.

You look at him quizzically. “Can we go to your apartment?” he murmurs. “We’ve been in my world this whole night, now I want to be in yours.”

You smile softly before leaning up to kiss him, quick and light. He squeezes your hand as he leads you through the room, and then suddenly you’re outside, breathing cool, almost autumn air while you wait for Tim to get a car sorted out. You turn your eyes upward to meet the moon again, the ghost of Claire de Lune still drifting through your head.

Tim breaks your reverie by calling your name, and you follow him into the back of a car. After directing the driver to your apartment, Tim hands you an earbud. You put it in your left ear while Tim puts the other in his right, and together you listen to Claire de Lune again as the car makes it’s way through a Gotham that’s soft and shiny with moonlight. Three repetitions of Debussy later you’re standing in front of your apartment, Tim wrapping his arms around you as you fiddle with your keys, unlock your door, and lead him to your bedroom.

Later, after you’re spent twice over and Tim has made good on his fantasy of opening you up with his mouth, Tim shifts in the bed and slides himself around you, lips at your ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You sigh happily. “Mmm.”

“I asked the orchestra to play Clair de Lune.”

You raise yourself up on your elbows at that, leaning over him with a meaningful look into his starry eyes. You’re sure there are stars in yours, too. 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You lie back down. “Thank you.”

His hand comes up to stroke your hair. “Mmm.”

[lynnsfics]

In The Spotlight

Chapter One

Pairing: Actor!Loki x Reader

Word Count: Approx. 2k

Next Chapter >

~~~

“I will no longer have you freeloading in my house! You’re 24, you need a real job! This will teach you a lesson, pack your things.” The door slammed shut, leaving you alone in your room. 

Tears streamed down your face as a sob racked your body. Where would you go? Shaking your head, you grabbed your suitcase. Maybe you could convince your mother to reconsider. You stood up and cautiously opened the door. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she warned. “Don’t give me this ‘theatre is your dream’ B.S. Find a real job, start earning a living, then you can come back home. Until then, you’re on your own.” 

Sighing, you closed your door. You slumped down against it, putting your head in your hands. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through your curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. Well, there wasn’t anything you could do to improve the situation.  

The blue suitcase sat abandoned in the middle of your floor. Picking it back up off the carpet, you set it down on your grey bedspread. As you collected your belongings, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. 

Navigating to your messages, you quickly sent a text to your best friend. “Hey Meg, I just got kicked out. It’s a long story. Can I crash at your apartment for the night?”

Not even a moment later your phone lit up. “Of course,” she replied, “you can stay as long as you need.” Well that was certainly a weight off your chest. 

Truth be told, you had always been a little jealous of Meg. Ever since elementary school, she had seemed so put together. Right out of college she had a successful job and her own apartment. Now you were thankful she did.

Once all your things were in the suitcase, you shut it with a sigh. Creaking the bedroom door open, you  stepped out into the hall. The suitcase rolled easily along the wood floor, all the way out to the garage. 

Stepping into the one car garage, your nose crinkled at the odor of mildew that clung to the damp air. You maneuvered your way around the lawnmower, back pressed against the car door. Eventually you made it to the rear of the vehicle, and groaned. The metal around the taillight was corroded with rust, and it was spreading along the back of the car, towards the latch of the trunk.

As you tried to unlock the back of the car, the key got stuck in the lock and had to struggle to unlock it. When the key finally turned, you put your baggage in the trunk and slammed the top shut with a satisfying thud. 

The driver’s side of the car presented a similar probably, but you were used to it. Once you were finally in the driver’s seat, you sighed in relief. Looking over your shoulder, you pressed the button to open the garage door. 

After a moment, it slowly rose with a loud squeal. It stung that your mom hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye, but maybe it was for the best. You put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. Once you reached the end, you pushed the garage door button again. However, this time it didn’t work.

For a moment you considered getting out of the car to close it, but the sun was already beginning sinking on the horizon and you’d hoped to make it to Meg’s by nightfall. You had a full hour’s drive ahead of you, so time was of the essence. Rolling your eyes, you continued to back out of the driveway, then turned and drove down the street.

“If she’s able to kick me out of the house, she’s able to close the garage door,” you muttered to yourself. When you reached the stop sign at the end of the road you paused to roll down the window. You scowled as you turned the crank, bitterly musing to yourself about your old car. Once you had a job and a permanent place to live, buying a new car—one with power windows and a working A/C—would be your top priority.

Soon after, a cool breeze filtered through your window, you took a deep breath. The smell of must and mildew had cleared from your lungs, and was now replaced by the warm, dry air of the summer evening. You turned on the radio and let the music take you out of the moment. All that lay ahead of you was an open road, the red and purple hues of the sunset and the welcoming comfort of your best friend’s city apartment. 

That was another thing you had been jealous of. After the divorce, your mom kept the house in rural, upstate New York, while your dad stayed in the city. Since your mother had full custody, you had to kiss any hope of city life away. Including your dream of theatre. Meanwhile, Meg was able to live in the city and pursue whatever dream she wanted. Yet you didn’t resent her for that. 

Whenever you had a chance to visit her, the city always fascinated you. Sure, it was bustling and usually quite dirty, but it never died. No matter where you were, there was always some background noise to preoccupy your mind. 

The further you got from home, the more uneasy you began to feel. Looking at your fuel gauge, you pursed your lips in frustration. You were practically running on empty, and from the looks of the empty road around you, it was a long way from the nearest gas station. 

Sending a silent prayer to whatever gods may be listening, you pulled out your phone. Apparently those prayers were answered as you had a signal and could pull up the map. From the looks of it, the closest gas station was only a few miles away, so you kept driving.

In five minutes time you arrived, and you couldn’t help but cringe slightly at the sigh around you. Gravel crunched under your tires as you pulled in, and you hoped you wouldn’t drive over a nail. There was only one gas pump and it looked as if a strong gust of wind could blow it down. The service station next to it was equally unkempt. 

The paint peeled off the front of the building and you couldn’t quite make out the name of the station. One of the windows appeared to be shattered, and the one light illuminating the whole area flickered ominously every few seconds. 

You parked the car away from the pump, wanting to check it out before getting any fuel. Upon inspection you realized they didn’t accept credit, only cash. Walking back to your car, you began to rummage through your glove compartment for some loose bills.

A loud screech brought you back to reality and you looked up. There was a flashy black sports car parked next to the pump, not even a foot away from the front of your car. 

That was it. You weren’t getting pushed around any more today. Stepping out of your car you yelled at the driver, “Hey watch where you’re driving! And I was here first, asshole.”

A tall man folded himself out of the car. He was dressed impeccably, wearing a dark green dress shirt with black dress pants. Long black hair fell in waves just past his shoulders, and he held himself with a certain level of elegance. You blinked, forgetting what you had been so upset about, instead finding yourself preoccupied with his chiseled jawline and sharp, high cheekbones. 

However, the moment he spoke, it all came flooding back. “Oh dear, nasty manners. I have places to be. You can wait.”

“What makes you assume that I don’t have places to be?” Alright, now you were mad. Who the hell did he think he was?

He walked over to you and you began to feel antsy. Just because you wanted to fight him didn’t mean you wanted to fight him. 

“Here, take this for your troubles. Maybe get some anger management with it.” Forcibly, he shoved a crisp fifty dollar bill in your hand. You weren’t sure what to do, but you decided to keep the cash. The need for fuel was greater than the need to see that smirk wiped off his perfect face. 

As abruptly as he walked up to you, he turned and walked away, heading into the building. You sighed and got back in the car, waiting for him to leave so you could purchase your fuel and be on your way. 

There were about fifteen missed messages from Meg, and you couldn’t help but smile. Most of the texts asked where you were and if you were alright. You responded, telling her you were about a half hour out of the city, but you had to stop for fuel. Something told you to leave out the part about the pretentious British jerk. That was a story to save for when you saw her in person. 

As soon as he left, you drove your car forward, getting ready to buy the fuel. Walking over to the station, you bristled. The door handle was covered in a deep rust, worse than the corrosion on your car. Cautiously, you reached out, pulling on the door. It didn’t budge.

It was at that moment you noticed the large sticker above the handle that said ‘push’. Of course you noticed it only after you made a fool of yourself. Sighing in exasperation, you pushed open the door. Entering the small service station, you blinked back your surprise.

Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the shop. While most of the display racks had auto repair goods, some advertised different overpriced snacks. Looking at the ridiculous price of three dollars for a candy bar, you scoffed. So that was how this place managed to stay in business.

Placing the fifty on the counter, you nibbled on your bottom lip. You’d only need thirty dollars worth of fuel. Besides, you wouldn’t be driving much once you reached the city. Finally you came to a decision. “Thirty dollars of fuel and one coffee please.” 

The man behind the counter nodded gruffly. He handed you back your change and your cup of coffee. It was black as night, no cream or sugar. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you,” you began.

“That’s the way we serve it,” he cut you off brusquely. “You can take it or leave it.”

Part of you considered ‘leaving it’ all over his face. But instead you shook your head and said, “No it’s alright, thank you.” God how you hated being a pushover.

When you were finally back on the road, you took a sip of your coffee. It was somehow still piping hot and not quite as bitter as you had expected. Or maybe the exhaustion was finally setting in and everything was losing its flavor. You were more willing to put your money on option two. 

Finally you made your way into the city. It was near impossible to see the moon or any stars, but judging by how dark the sky was, you knew it was late. Meg was waiting for you outside the apartment building, and once you were out of the car she rushed to give you a hug.

“Are you alright? When it took you so long I was worried,” her eyebrows were knit together in concern. 

“I am, thank you. But how about I tell you all about it in the morning? It’s been a long day and right now I just need to sleep.” Meg nodded, leading you up the stairs to her apartment. 

It was nice and cool inside, and you took a breath. Looking at the couch you saw that blankets and pillows were laid out already, and you smiled. Leave it to Meg to know how exhausted you would be. After washing up and once again thanking your best friend, you collapsed onto the sofa, falling immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

~~~

Hey everyone! As promised, here is Chapter One! If you want to be added to my taglist for this fic let me know! As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

[nessiansimp]

Halloween Party Nessian fic

Nesta hated Halloween.

Firstly, because it was the most pointless holiday to ever grace a calendar. She simply couldn't understand why people willingly chose to dress up in some outlandish costume while stuffing themselves with candy and other overpriced sweets. Second, because she had to spend the entire night in said ridiculously uncomfortable costumes, glaring down anyone who looked at her for too long.

But mostly because every year, her sisters dragged her to the stupid Halloween party their friend Mor was hosting.

Which happened to be exactly where she was at the moment. At the huge house Mor had rented out for the evening, which was filled with loud music and dancing and laughing, and people partying like it was there last day on Earth. There were at least several hundred people there, and she found herself wondering again and again how her sister's friend even knew that many people to invite. She didn't think she'd met more than a few dozen people in her life.

The one thing that made the horrific ordeal slightly more bearable was seeing Cassian. She usually didn't get to see much of him during the year because of both of their busy work schedules. The holidays were one of the few times she saw him, and she was glad to have those few moments with him, despite the horrible music and the drunk partygoers that crowded around them.

She shifted uncomfortably in her witch costume, a short black dress and a pointy hat which she'd reused from last year's event, as she scanned the crowd for Amren. Her sister Feyre had ditched her to find her boyfriend Rhys, and Elain had gone off with Azriel to play some party game.

Which left her alone. In a sea of people she didn't know and had no interest in meeting.

A deep voice rumbled behind her. "Hi, sweetheart."

She whirled around to find Cassian grinning at her. He was dressed in the most absurd costume she'd seen yet. A pale gray jacket with orange pompoms down the center. Puffed up sleeves and white feathers glued to every inch of the shirt collar. He wore matching gray gloves and a fiery orange wig, the color of which suited the pompoms perfectly. The white and red face paint he'd been wearing had mostly faded off, leaving nothing but brown skin in its wake. Although his nose was still painted a vivid red.

"Hello, Cassian," she drawled.

He slung an arm around her shoulder and steered her towards the bar, the only place in the party where she could actually enjoy herself. They sat down on the stools and Cassian ordered drinks for them.

He swiveled in his chair and turned to face her, his gaze raking over her simple costume. It wasn't a particularly creative choice of clothing, but she didn't want to waste the money or the energy on an outfit she would wear only once a year.

"Nice costume," he said. The bartender came back and handed them their drinks, and he swished the liquid in his cup around once, before downing its contents in one long gulp. He cracked a fiendish smile in her direction. "It's super creative. And look at that, it suits your personality."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "At least I didn't dress up as chicken."

He motioned to the bartender for another drink, who nodded and grinned at him like they knew each other. She didn't doubt he knew at least half the people at the party. Cassian was that type of person. Funny and easygoing. Not to mention incredibly attractive. Of course she'd never tell him that.

His attention turned back to her and his lips curled upward. Cassian's eyes alighted with the challenge in her words, sensing the start of another argument. The bartender came back with his second drink and slid it over to him on the counter.

He picked up his drink, watching as she took a sip of hers. "I'm not a chicken," he retorted. "I'm a clown."

"Did you mean that literally or figuratively?"

"Both."

She clamped her lips together, trying not to let any of her amusement show. She'd really missed their arguments.

"Are you sure you're not a chicken?" She gestured to his collar. "What's with the feathers?"

He scratched his head. "Yeah, I didn't have the right fabric so I had to improvise." He straightened. "I think I'm pretty recognizable anyway. I mean, I'm not just any clown."

She stared at him over the rim of her cup. "What do you mean?"

He motioned to the wig and the face paint, then the clothes before he sighed and said "I'm Pennywise."

She raised a brow. "Am I supposed to know what that is?"

He gasped mockingly. "You've never watched 'It'?"

"No. Why would I watch a horror movie on purpose?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because it's fun to get scared."

"Well, if you're trying to frighten someone, the only people you're scaring off are poultry farmers."

He barked a laugh. "Well, if I knew you were coming, I would have suggested we picked out couple costumes instead. We could've gone as ghost or vampires, if that's more up your alley."

She snorted. "Yeah, except for the fact that we're not a couple."

"Who says we can't be one?"

She rolled her eyes and looked away to hide the blush creeping up her face. She tried to search for Amren again, but she still couldn't see her anywhere in the large crowd and she couldn't find anyone else she recognized either. She'd probably be stuck with Cassian for the rest of the night.

The man in question grabbed her hand suddenly and started dragging her towards the dance floor. "Come on," he said.

She groaned. "No way. I hate dancing."

"Too bad," he sang.

They stopped right under the disco ball swinging from the ceiling and Cassian's hands came to rest on her hips, swaying them both gently with the music. The loud music pulsed from speakers overhead and neon lights flashed different colors. Her boot heels clacked on the floor as people swarmed around them in the crowded room, shoving her and Cassian closer to each other until there was barely any distance between them at all.

Someone pushed her from behind suddenly and she stumbled forward, crashing into him. His arms came around her, warm and steady. He held onto her until she regained her balance, then his hands found her waist again.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, until at one point he took her hand and pulled her into a dark hallway far away from the dancing and music and people. She stumbled back against the wall as he braced his hands on either side of her, completely trapping her there. His warm breath fanned over her face as he inched closer until they were practically nose to nose. His dark hair slid over his brow, his hazel eyes burning like molten flames.

She crossed her arms and raised her chin defiantly. "I thought you wanted to dance."

"I changed my mind."

He leaned forward suddenly and seized her mouth in his. It was anything but gentle, the movement fueled by desire and need, as well as the heavy amount of alcohol they'd both consumed earlier. Her lips parted as his tongue slid over the roof of her mouth, his calluses brushing her arm as he held her against the wall. She fisted the front of his shirt in one hand to pull him closer, although there wasn't any distance left between them at all. His body was warm and hard against hers, and she moaned a little in spite of herself as he slid a hand under her dress and started rubbing circles on her thigh.

She pulled back and grinned up at him. He grinned back, panting and breathless.

She smirked. "I think I'm going to need another drink."

He laughed as she took his hand and starting dragging him back to the bar, when Amren tackled them out of nowhere. Her friend was wearing a black dress, her outfit similar to her own, except Amren's lips were painted a deep red with fake blood trickling off her chin and fake fangs in her mouth.

"There you are," she huffed. "We've been looking everywhere for you."

Amren's eyes flicked briefly over Nesta's costume, then Cassian's, wrinkling her nose slightly as she took in the feathers and the vibrant pompoms.

Cassian smirked at her expression. "What's your costume, Amren? Tiny bloodsucking elf?"

Amren rolled her eyes. "I'm a vampire, you dolt. What are you supposed to be, a chicken?"

Nesta nudged Cassian in the side. "See? I told you."

"Idiots," he muttered.

Nesta slid her hand into his and pecked Cassian on the cheek, who grinned at her devilishly, before following Amren through the crowd and dragging Cassian along with her.

After nearly losing Amren three times, they finally made it to the table where Elain, Mor, and Azriel were waiting for them. Mor was wearing a red devil costume with horns poking out of her golden hair, and Elain was clothed in a flowing gown, a sparkling tiara placed on her head.

Azriel was wearing what he usually wore, a black jacket with matching black pants, except for the white face paint drawn in lazy lines, like he hadn't bothered to put any effort in. She assumed he was supposed to be a skeleton, although his outfit did the bare minimum. She really wished she'd thought of that. The skintight dress she was wearing had already started to become unbearably uncomfortable.

She sat down across from them and Cassian plopped down next to her, one hand on his drink, the other on her bare knee. Nesta was just about to ask where her other sister was, the whole reason she was in this mess in the first place, when Feyre strutted over to them with Rhys on her arm.

Her sister twirled around in her angel costume once before sitting down next to Rhys. "Do you guys like my outfit?"

Rhys wiggled his eyebrows. "Yeah, but it'd look better on my bedroom flo-"

Amren gagged.

"Oh please, not this again," Mor groaned, then turned to Nesta and said "They've been acting like this ever since we got here."

Feyre laughed and popped a candy into her mouth from the candy bowl in front of her. "Ok, we'll stop. I promise."

Amren snorted. "I give them 5 minutes before they're at it again."

"2 minutes," Mor countered.

"30 seconds," Cassian said.

Rhys rolled his eyes. "You know we can hear you, right?"

Mor stood up suddenly and clasped her hands. "You know what? Let's do something fun. Like truth or dare!"

"I'll go first." This from Amren, a cruel smile dancing on her blood red lips, in a way that made Nesta feel terribly sorry for whoever was going to be subject to her demands.

Amren turned to Feyre. "Truth or dare?"

Feyre contemplated for a bit, before answering "Dare."

"I dare you to eat every single piece of candy in the bowl in front of you."

"What? No!" Feyre protested.

Amren was uncompromising. "You said you wanted a dare."

"A dare within reason-"

Feyre continued to argue with Amren and Nesta's attention started to wander, already bored with the conversation. Cassian gave her a sidelong glance and the hand on her thigh started drifting higher.

Eventually Amren gave up and slumped back in her seat. Mor took the opportunity to cut in. "My turn," she chirped. "Az, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"When was the first time you..."

The rest of the conversation became a blur as his fingers started working their way up her inner thigh, drawing idle lines and circles on her skin. His touch was warm against her freezing skin, courtesy of the Velaris weather.

Somewhere in the background, their friends were laughing themselves hoarse over whatever Az had dared Rhys to do, but Nesta couldn't hear anything over the roaring in her ears as Cassian hand trailed her legs and slipped under the lace of underclothes, his fingers just shy of her folds.

Two fingers curved in on the soft skin at the apex of her thighs, applying just enough pressure to make her cough to suppress a moan. No one payed her any attention, their focus solely on the game. She slid her gaze to Cassian, who kept his face neutrally blank as he casually participated in the conversation, laughing at the appropriate times.

Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers encircled her core teasingly, so dangerously close to where she wanted him. Every thought in her brain narrowed to the two fingers under her dress, just inches away from-

"Nesta?"

She snapped her head up. Everyone was gaping at them from across the table. Cassian smirked and slowly withdrew his fingers from under her dress.

"Um." She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. "Did you ask me something?"

Feyre's eyes darted between her and Cassian, before widening slightly and saying "I just asked if you were going to choose truth or dare."

She cleared her throat, trying very hard not to look at Cassian and the taunting expression on his face. "Dare."

Feyre's lips curled into a wicked smile and Nesta shuddered. "I dare you to kiss Cassian."

Cassian mirrored Feyre's expression as he studied Nesta. She shook her head. "Never mind, I'm going with truth."

Feyre's smile didn't falter. "Do you want to kiss Cassian?"

Nesta stood up from her chair and brushed herself off. She made a mental note to push Feyre into the Sidra later. "I should probably head home. It's getting late."

Cassian stood up with her and tucked his chair in. "I'll walk you there."

Amren's eyebrows shot up to her forehead. She gave Nesta a knowing look, which she ignored. Feyre still wore that delighted grin on her face as she kissed her cheek and waved them off. They said goodbye to everyone, then stepped outside into the autumn weather.

As soon as they were outside the party, away from all the loud music and flashing lights, she whirled on Cassian.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed.

A wry smile. "Oh please, you liked it."  

She had enjoyed it. A little. But she wasn't about to tell him that.

He offered her his arm, which she ignored, and started walking ahead of him. He grinned and rushed after her, leaves cracking under both of their feet. They passed a group of kids trick-or-treating who gave them weird looks on their way to her apartment, probably because Cassian was still wearing that ridiculous outfit of his. They walked a few more minutes in silence, before she turned to Cassian again, who was rubbing his hands together franticly.            

"If you're trying to summon an evil spirit," she said, "I don't think that's how it works."

He grunted. "My hands are cold. I think I lost my gloves somewhere."

"Then just buy new gloves."

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, Nesta, that's a brilliant idea. I hadn't even thought of that."

He continued rubbing his hands together and she almost laughed at the site of him.

"It's not even that cold. No one else is wearing gloves," she pointed out.

"Well, I'm sorry for not being immune to cold weather."

She grasped his hand in one of hers. "There. Now shut up."

His eyes widened at first, but then a slow grin spread on his face. "You know, I think my lips are getting cold too-"

"Screw you," she muttered and yanked him forward. He stumbled after her, gripping her hand like a lifeline. They walked a bit longer, silence settling over them again, until they reached her apartment on the banks of the Sidra.

He leaned casually against her door as she slid fumbled with her keys. "Admit it. You had fun tonight."

She slid her keys into the lock and cracked the door open. "Debatable."

"Wasn't that so much better than staying at home alone and reading some cheesy romance novel?"

He stepped in front of her to block her path, and when she couldn't sidestep him, she asked "Which part? The part where we made out or the part where we got drunk?"

A snort. "We weren't even that drunk. We just had a couple of drinks."

"I must've been drunk if I actually kissed you."

He growled. "You could've just answered the damn question, Nesta."  

She laughed, and he looked as surprised as she was to hear the sound come from her. His face broke into a smile again.

She stepped closer to him, toying with those ridiculous pompoms on his jacket that had somehow managed to stay glued on the entire night. "I had a great time. Best Halloween of my life," she added. "Happy now?"

He smirked. "Not yet."

He leaned forward and pressed a featherlight kiss to her lips then pulled back so quickly she barely had time to register that what had happened.

A smiled danced on his lips. "I can't wait to see what we're going to dress up as for next Halloween."

"As long as you don't dress up in this ridiculous costume again."

He grinned as she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind her.

[calumcest]

taking the long way home

[ao3]

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-” 

-

aka their flight is delayed au

Ashton Irwin does not, repeat not, like flying.

He thinks it’s a perfectly rational thing to dislike. He’s not afraid, by any means – it’s just such an inefficient way of getting anywhere. He’ll spend an hour getting to the airport in order to be two hours early for his three hour flight, and then spend another hour on the other end getting to wherever he actually needed to go because airports are never anywhere convenient. Not to mention the patting down he inevitably gets at security, the fifteen minute wait for them to check whether or not the dark shadow in his bag is a tube of lip balm or a stick of dynamite, and the ridiculous price of the lunch he’s forced to buy in Duty Free. All of that would perhaps, perhaps, be just about tolerable, if his flights were ever on fucking time.

So far, however, Ashton’s day is running fairly smoothly. He’d not even been ‘randomly selected’ at security for a pat down, and the lady in Costa had taken pity on him when he was fumbling with his coins (seriously, why the fuck are five-pence coins so small?) and given him his tuna melt panini for ten pence less than he owed. He’d even made it to his gate an hour before departure time, picking the most strategically placed seat so he can jump up and join the queue as soon as boarding is announced. All in all, Ashton’s having the most bearable day he could possibly have in an airport.

The universe, however, seems to have other plans. Despite it being January, despite the weather forecast saying it might snow, as soon as a single snowflake hits the runway, the entire fucking airport loses its shit. Flight after flight gets cancelled, delayed until the morning, and the airport is suddenly filling up as people aren’t getting on their flights. Ashton’s flight makes it all the way until half an hour before boarding is supposed to start, keeping Ashton’s hopes high, when-

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-”

Great. Fucking great. Not like Ashton has places to be, people to see, a life to live, a home he would like to get back to before the age of ninety. It’s already eleven p.m.; if Ashton’s rudimentary maths is accurate, his flight won’t be departing until nine a.m., if at all (he adds a few hours onto the delay, because he knows better than to trust airlines).

Groaning, he drags himself out of his well-selected seat and over to the information desk, where a small crowd is starting to gather, jostling impatiently to try and hear what the one harassed-looking employee is saying to the man at the front of the queue.

“Can you fucking believe this?” the guy behind Ashton grumbles. He’s got a familiar Aussie twang, but Ashton doesn’t even turn around to bond with him – testament to how bad of a mood he’s in.

“Yes,” Ashton says darkly. “It’s a fucking airline.”

“Fair point,” the guy says. “Reckon they’ll have any hotel rooms left? We must be the ninetieth flight delayed because of adverse weather conditions.”

“I’d rather take the extra compensation money and sleep on my suitcase,” Ashton says. The guy behind him laughs.

“Need the money?” he says, sympathetically. “I’ve been there, mate. What do you do?”

“I drum,” Ashton says. “Session musician.”

“Sweet,” the guy says. “I play guitar. Session musician, too, but my band’s trying to make it.”

“Oh?” Ashton says, interest finally piqued enough to turn around and get a good look at the guy. He’s about Ashton’s age, maybe a little younger, with a long, sweeping blonde fringe that Ashton’s impressed managed to cling on through to the 2020s.

“Yeah,” the guy says. “Heading out to LA to record. You?”

“I was here to record,” Ashton says, and then they’re interrupted by a tall guy rushing up, clutching a duffel bag in his arms.

“Sorry, Mike,” the guy says, slightly breathless. “The toilet’s a fucking mile away, and possibly in another dimension.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the fringe-owner (Mike?) says, rolling his eyes. “Hey, I’ve made a friend. He’s Australian and a session musician too. I’m considering replacing you with him.”

“Ashton,” Ashton says, nodding at both Mike and New Guy. He does a (subtle) double-take when he properly looks at New Guy, because Christ, he is fucking gorgeous. He’s got blonde hair that curls beautifully in the way that Ashton’s never managed to get own hair to, baby-blue eyes that blink at him from under dark, inky lashes, and a dimple on one side of the lips he’s currently biting.

Well. Consider Ashton fucked.

“Michael,” Mike says, nodding back. “And this is Luke.”

“Hi,” Luke says. “Sorry, I swear I’m not queue-jumping.”

“Wouldn’t matter to me if you were,” Ashton says. “You’re behind me.”

“You’re not very principled,” Luke says. Ashton shrugs.

“Never claimed to be,” he says.

“Ashton wants to sleep on his suitcase,” Michael informs Luke.

“I said the same thing,” Luke says. “I need the money.”

“I want a bed,” Michael says.

“You just want somewhere without me to call Calum,” Luke says accusingly.

“Can you blame me?” Michael says. “I’ve got to spend an extra seven hours with you now. Hey, maybe Ashton’ll take you off my hands.”

“No can do,” Ashton says, although his dick very much thinks yes, please, it would be my honour. “I need my beauty sleep.” Luke frowns.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he says, slightly petulantly. Michael pats him on the shoulder.

“Of course not, babe,” he says patronisingly. “Hey, Ashton, you’re next.” Ashton turns around, surprised at how fast the queue has moved, to see he is indeed the next person in the queue.

“Good evening, sir,” the lady says, tiredly, when Ashton slaps his ticket down on the counter. Ashton feels a stab of pity for her. It’s not her fault that airlines are determined to suck the joy out of life.

“I want the compensation money,” he says, figuring it’s best to cut to the chase.

“Thank goodness,” the lady says, scanning his ticket, “because we don’t have any hotel rooms left.

“Hear that?” Ashton hears Luke say to Michael.

“Yeah, Luke, I’m stood just as far away as you,” Michael tells Luke.

“Right,” Ashton says. “Is the flight actually going to leave tomorrow?”

“Not a clue,” the lady says, tapping away on her keyboard. “The money will be in your account in three business days, Mr Irwin.”

“Thanks,” Ashton says, picking up his suitcase and ticket and moving to the side to put his ticket and passport away.

(And yeah, maybe he fiddles a little more than strictly necessary with his suitcase, zipping and unzipping it a few times for no reason, until Luke and Michael finish with the customer service lady. It doesn’t mean anything.)

“…might not even be into guys, Mike, oh my God, fucking stop, stop,” he hears Luke hiss, sounding like he’s pleading, and he looks up from his suitcase to see Michael heading towards him with Luke trailing behind.

“Well?” Michael prompts, when they get to Ashton. Ashton looks at him questioningly, wondering whether he was supposed to overhear and comment on whatever Luke was talking about. “You’re going to spend the night with us, right? Us Aussies have to stick together. I can’t leave you on your own with British people in good conscience. Plus, I want to call my boyfriend, and I need someone to look after Luke.”

“I’m fucking twenty-three,” Luke says. “I can look after myself.”

“You left your passport in the hotel,” Michael says.

“Yeah, and then I remembered that I forgot it,” Luke says.

“Once you got to the airport.”

“So? Our flight’s got a seven hour delay,” Luke says. Michael rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to call Calum,” he says. “You two find somewhere nice and cosy for us to sleep tonight. Pick the best chairs.” Without waiting for a response, he strides off, phone already in his hand.

Great. Now Ashton’s stuck with possibly the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen, and he’s in a terrible mood so he can’t even flirt.

“Sorry about him,” Luke says, and he does actually sound sorry. He’s worrying the bottom corner of his lip with his teeth, and Ashton wonders absent-mindedly whether there’s a cause behind that particular nervous tic. “You don’t have to stay with me. I mean, like, obviously not, you don’t even know me. Michael’s just…like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Ashton assures him, because something in his gut is screaming that he really, really does want to stay with Luke. “I could use the company.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep…?” Luke trails off.

“Who ever gets what they fucking want in an airport?” Ashton says, and Luke laughs, laughs, and Ashton’s stomach flips in a way that’s nearly pleasant and almost-probably isn’t to do with the tuna melt he ate earlier. He resolves to try and make Luke laugh as much as possible for the next seven-plus hours. “Let’s find some good seats to hog before the rest of the flights tonight get cancelled.” Luke nods, biting his lip again, and grabs his and Michael’s bags, following in Ashton’s wake.

Ashton, for all of his hatred of airports, is a master at finding the perfect seats, so it’s really no surprise when he spots a secluded little square of seats tucked away behind a wall that looks like it’s a dead end but isn’t. He’s kind of proud, though, when Luke makes a noise of surprise and approval, and tries not to let it go to his head.

(He doesn’t succeed.)

“Mike’ll be gone for, like, three hours at the very least,” Luke says apologetically. Good, Ashton wants to say. Get you all to myself. Sounds a bit serial-killer, though, when he thinks about it, so he doesn’t.

“His boyfriend?” he enquires, hoping it’s coming off very much as I, too, am interested in having a boyfriend and not a man with a boyfriend? What is the world coming to? Luke nods, so Ashton reckons he got close enough.

“Yeah,” Luke says, a small smile forming on his lips. “Calum. They’ve been together as long as I’ve known them.”

“How long’s that?” Ashton asks, curious.

“Ten years? Something like,” Luke says. Ashton whistles.

“That’s a long time for someone your age,” he says. Luke makes a small noise of outrage.

“My age?” Luke says indignantly. “You’re what, like, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-five,” Ashton corrects. “See? I said I needed my beauty sleep.” Luke scowls, but it’s good-natured.

They busy themselves with getting comfortable for a few minutes. Ashton leaves the seats by the window that’ll get draughty in the morning for Michael (first come first served, he thinks) and picks the row opposite Luke to stretch out on, kicking off his shoes and using his backpack as a pillow. From the corner of his eye, he sees Luke take a travel pillow and thin blanket out of his duffel bag, and for some reason Ashton’s heart decides that’s the cutest thing Luke’s done so far tonight.

“So, where in Australia are you from?” Luke asks, fluffing up the tiny pillow as best he can.

“Sydney,” Ashton says. “You?”

“No way,” Luke says, turning around to face Ashton. “Me too!” He sounds so excited that Ashton doesn’t have the heart to point out that it’s not that surprising, given Sydney has a fifth of Australia’s population.

“Whereabouts?” Ashton asks, hoping it’s not coming off as stalker-esque.

“Western Sydney,” Luke says, swinging his legs up and lying down on his row of seats. “Like, Oakville kind of area?”

“No way,” Ashton says, because that is a little bit more exciting than simply being from the same massive city. “I’m from Richmond.”

“That’s so weird,” Luke says happily. “What are the odds of bumping into someone else from western Sydney in Heathrow Airport?”

“Well, you’re here with Michael, aren’t you?” Ashton says, lying down and arranging his coat over himself.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be bumping into him,” Luke says. Then, as though the thought’s just struck him, he adds- “Hey, he said you play?” Ashton nods.

“Yeah, drums,” he says. “I can play guitar and a little bit of piano, too, but drums are my main love.” Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, making Ashton’s stomach swoop.

“That’s fucking sick,” Luke tells him, and he sounds so earnest that Ashton actually believes that this random guy thinks Ashton’s ability to hit a drum with a stick is cool. “Our band needs a drummer, actually. I bet Michael’ll try and recruit you.”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, pretending to muse. “My going rate is pretty high.”

“Oh?” Luke says. “Will ten pounds and a can of coke do?”

“I’ll do it for just the can of coke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins again. Ashton thinks it’s pretty unfair of the universe to present him with such a beautiful, out-of-his-league man when he’s tired and grumpy, so not up to his best conversation. If this were any other situation, Ashton would be wooing Luke so hard he’d put Romeo to shame.

“I’m going to try and sleep,” Ashton says. I want to try and be in a better mood tomorrow morning so I can flirt with you and possibly suck your dick, he adds mentally, just in case Luke can read minds. Luke just nods solemnly.

“Good luck,” he says.

“I’m going to need it,” Ashton tells him, flashing him a quick smile before closing his eyes. He hears Luke sigh, shuffle a little under his thin blanket, and peeks out of one eye to see him stretching. His phone, clutched in his left hand, clatters to the floor.

“Oops,” Luke says, blushing slightly as he twists around to pick it up and inspect it for damage. His shirt rides up a little, just enough for Ashton to see a sliver of smooth, pale skin on his hip. Ashton squeezes his eyes shut again.

God. He is so fucked.

-------

Ashton actually manages to drift off into an uneasy sleep, much to his surprise. When he’s pulled back into consciousness, far too soon for his liking, it’s to the low sound of people talking quietly.

“…number,” someone’s saying.

“I’m not doing that, Michael!” someone else says, voice almost squeaky with indignance.

“Why not?” the first person (Michael, Ashton’s sleepy brain supplies), says.

“Because!” the second person (Luke, Ashton thinks) says.

“What are you, four?” Michael scoffs. “That’s not a valid reason. I’ll give it to him.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Luke says.

“C’mon, Luke, what’ve you got to lose?” Michael says. “You’re never going to see him again.”

“My dignity,” Luke says pointedly. “Not that you’d know what that is.”

“You’re right,” Michael says agreeably, “so I’ll give it to him.”

“No!” Luke squawks, and it’s loud enough that Ashton opens his eyes. Both Michael and Luke, sat upright on their rows of seats, turn to look at him, Luke with a guilty look on his face, Michael unreadable.

“Morning,” Michael says.

“Time’s it?” Ashton mumbles. It’s still dark outside.

“Four,” Michael says, and Ashton groans, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Hey, at least you slept,” Michael says.

“Did you not?” Ashton asks.

“Luke did,” Michael says, nodding at Luke, who smiles bashfully back at him. “And now he’s hungry.”

“I can speak for myself, y’know,” Luke informs Michael, before turning to Ashton. “I am hungry, though.”

“Want to spend your entire life savings on a disappointing sandwich?” Ashton offers. “I’ll join.”

“Sure,” Luke says. “Mikey…?” Michael throws him a meaningful look, and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll stay here, guard your precious little pillow.”

“Hey,” Luke says, pointing at Michael. “My little pillow helped me sleep.”

“Ashton slept without one,” Michael says.

“I don’t think my neck appreciated it, though,” Ashton says, sitting up and cracking his neck from side to side, making Luke wince.

“D’you want anything?” Luke asks Michael.

“A chocolate brownie, if you find anywhere that sells them,” Michael says. “And for you to-”

“Alright,” Luke says loudly, sounding slightly panicked.

“-fuck off,” Michael finishes, throwing Luke another indecipherable look.

“Chocolate brownie,” Luke repeats. “Got it.” Ashton swings his legs out from under his coat, feeling the sudden loss of heat, and shrugs his coat back over his shoulders.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s see where we can waste our money at three in the morning.”  

-------

They scour the entire terminal, but the only place that seems to be open and worth going to is Caffè Nero.

“Yet another overpriced panini,” Ashton mutters, staring at their selection in distaste.

“Not necessarily,” Luke points out. “You could go for an overpriced toastie.”

“Or treat myself to an overpriced salad,” Ashton agrees.

“I’m getting paid soon, so I’m going for a toastie,” Luke says, grabbing a ham and cheese toastie from the fridge.

“I just fucking love tuna,” Ashton says, grabbing another tuna melt. “Is it too early for a coffee? I’ll be wired for the whole flight and crash as soon as I land.”

“Too early for a coffee,” Luke tells him. “Get some chocolate instead.”

“What about a coffee and chocolate?” Ashton probes. Luke shakes his head.

“Chocolate,” he says firmly. Ashton mock-scowls, sighs dramatically, and goes up to order. He gets a hot chocolate, which is hot like coffee but chocolate like Luke told him, and a bag of crisps to wash down his tuna melt.

“Eat in or take away?” the guy taking his order asks. Ashton throws a glance at Luke.

“Take away,” Luke says. “Cheaper.”

“Good point,” Ashton says, turning back to the guy at the till. “Take away.”

“We can find somewhere to sit without Michael,” Luke says. “He hates the smell of tuna.” Ashton tries to ignore the way his stomach flips at the easy we, and the fact that Luke’s willing to sit with Ashton, a total stranger, rather than going back to his friend of a decade.

(He fails miserably.)

Luke gets two chocolate brownies, the fancy hot chocolate that Ashton wanted but his bank account didn’t, a can of coke and a bag of crisps on top of his ham and cheese toastie. They make idle chat while waiting for their food, and then find a little corner of the deserted terminal to sit down and start eating.

“God, I forgot how good a simple toastie can be,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he takes his first bite. Ashton’s dick’s interest is piqued.

“Who’d’ve known that heating up ham, cheese and bread can make such a difference?” Ashton muses, taking a bite out of his own tuna melt. Not as good as Costa, he thinks, but better than Pret.

“We’ve got a toastie maker at home, but we never use it,” Luke says, and Ashton’s heart sinks. We. Of course Luke’s taken; how the fuck could he not be? He’s possibly a demi-god, that’s how attractive he is – there’s no way someone like that stays single.

“Oh?” Ashton says, trying not to let the disappointment leak into his voice. “Your girlfriend want more adult food than toasties?” Luke looks at him, startled.

“Girlfriend?” he says. Yeah, Ashton’s not exactly subtle when he’s tired.

“Well, I-” Luke cuts him off with a small, shy smile.

“I don’t, uh, really swing that way?” Luke says, as though it’s a question, and Ashton’s stomach uncurls a little.

“Oh,” he says. “Good. I mean. Me either.”

“Oh,” Luke says, smile getting bigger. “And, just for the record, I don’t, um, have a boyfriend, either. Not that I’m- I’m not trying to- like, I live with Michael and Calum, so.” He shrugs, looking away, and Ashton sees a fierce blush creeping up his cheeks. He desperately wants to kiss Luke.

“Wow,” Ashton says, when he remembers to respond. “That can’t be fun.”

“Fucking isn’t,” Luke mumbles around his toastie. He swallows, clears his throat, and then adds: “Well, mostly it’s great. Until they start fucking.” Ashton chokes on his bite of tuna melt, and through his splutters he sees a coquettish look on Luke’s face.

“You don’t have to listen, you know,” Ashton says, when he recovers.

“I don’t,” Luke assures him, finishing off his toastie and starting on his crisps. “I cycle very loudly through a playlist called Worst Songs To Have Sex To.”

“What’s on it?” Ashton asks, curious.

“Oh, you know,” Luke says, grinning. “Cotton Eye Joe, What Does The Fox Say, nursery rhymes, that sort of thing.” Ashton snorts.

“Fucking hell,” he says. “I don’t think I’d be able to have sex through that.”

“Well, either Cal and Mike are into some weird shit, or the walls are thicker on their end than mine,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t have the heart to point out that that doesn’t make sense.

“You should play the same songs every time,” Ashton suggests. “Pavlov them into getting hard whenever they hear Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Luke bursts out laughing.

“Fuck,” he says, through giggles. “I’m absolutely going to do that.” Ashton grins, a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach at the fact that he’s made Luke laugh like that.

“Or just have really loud sex back,” he says, and Luke’s giggles still.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “I, like. Don’t really get to do a lot of that.” He’s blushing again, and Ashton cocks his head.

“Really?” he says.

“Really,” Luke says.

“You must have people throwing themselves at you,” Ashton says, and Luke bites his lip, shakes his head. “You’re fucking lying, Luke. Come on, look at you. Not getting laid, I get, no shame, that’s your choice, but not having the opportunity? I’m not buying that.” Luke shakes his head again, almost shy.

“Not really a lot of people’s type,” he says, and it sounds kind of sad. Ashton wants to kiss Luke, hold him in his arms, and also fucking kill whoever’s made Luke think that way.

“You’re kidding,” Ashton says flatly. “Luke, you’re the most-” he cuts himself off, because most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my entire twenty-five years of life is probably coming on a bit too strong. “You’re fucking stunning, Luke. You’re stunning, and you’re funny, and you’re cute. What’s not to like?”

“I don’t know,” Luke mumbles into his hot chocolate. “Maybe it’s because I’m shy. Guys like confident men.”

“Not all guys. I don’t,” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke looks up at him, blue eyes unreadable under his inky eyelashes.

“Yeah?” Luke says, quiet, and definitely shy.

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly, thinking fuck it, why the fuck not? If this goes badly, he’s never going to see Luke again, is he? You miss a hundred percent of the shots you miss, or whatever that saying is. “Luke, you’re, like. The cutest guy I’ve ever seen. I’d date you in a heartbeat.”

“You would?” Luke asks.

“I would,” Ashton says. A small smile creeps onto Luke’s face.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, feeling a little awkward now. “So, like. Yeah.” Luke smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Well, we’re both going to be in LA, aren’t we?” he says, sounding nervous. Ashton opens his mouth to respond – yes, that tends to be what happens when two people both get on a flight to LA – before his brain catches up with him, realises what Luke may potentially be hinting at.

But surely not, right? Not with Ashton.

“Are you asking me out?” Ashton asks. Luke looks away.

“Not really,” he says. “I’m- I might be, uh, asking you to ask me out, though.”

God. Ashton’s never met anyone so endearing in his fucking life.

“Let me take you to dinner,” Ashton says, finally, when it’s sunk in enough that Luke, Luke, the six-foot-three deity of pure, unadulterated sex and charm wants Ashton to ask him out. “Well, maybe not dinner, unless it’s in, like, two weeks, when I get paid. Maybe, like, a coffee. Or I could cook you dinner at my flat. I’m a good cook, and I promise I’m not a murderer.” Luke laughs again.

“Dinner at yours sounds good,” he says, grinning.

“Well,” Ashton says, finishing off the last of his hot chocolate. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank fucking God my flight got delayed.”

Luke’s answering smile makes Ashton feel slightly giddy.

-------

When they get back to Michael about an hour later, the sky is starting to brighten, and Michael’s fast asleep, having stolen Luke’s pillow.

“The bastard,” Luke says in a low voice, pointing it out to Ashton as he sets the brownie down carefully next to Michael. “What if I wanted to sleep?”

“Given that our flight’s leaving in, like, two hours, I think you’re a bit fucked on that front,” Ashton says.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Luke says. “I can fall asleep anywhere.”

“Perks of living such an extravagant, jetsetting lifestyle,” Ashton says solemnly, and Luke snorts.

“There have to be some perks in commuting from London to LA,” he says. “I’ll have to sleep on the flight.”

“Ooh, no,” Ashton says, wincing. “You can’t sleep on the flight. You’ll wake up after an hour and a half of unsatisfying sleep with a bad taste in your mouth and a stiff neck.”

“True,” Luke says, “but we’re supposed to have band practice today.”

“You practice out there?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Cal’s already out there – he’s been recording bass for some ska band – so Michael and I are meeting up with him this afternoon for practice.”

“How do you practice without a drummer?” Ashton wants to know.

“GarageBand,” Luke says, and Ashton winces.

“Oh, no,” he says, emphatically. “I can’t be having my beloved instrument reduced to GarageBand.”

“Hey,” Luke says, mock-affronted. “GarageBand comes a lot cheaper than drummers.”

“Cheaper than a can of coke?” Ashton asks, grinning. Luke grins back, and then looks like he’s suddenly been struck by inspiration.

“Hey, wait-” he fumbles around in his bag for a few seconds, and then tosses the can of coke he’d bought earlier at Ashton.

“You’re in the band now,” he says. “I hope you’re good.” Ashton laughs.

“I might only be worth a diet coke,” he tells Luke, pocketing the coke.

“Hey,” another voice says sleepily – Michael. “Where’m I?”

“Airport, Mike,” Luke says patiently.

“Oh,” Michael says, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Cal?”

“In LA,” Luke says.

“Oh,” Michael says, sounding a little sad.

“That’s where we’re heading,” Luke reassures him.

“Oh,” Michael says, a little happier, dragging himself into a seated position. He rubs his eyes, again, and then blinks at them blearily. “You’re Ashton,” he says to Ashton.

“I am,” Ashton says.

“You’re a drummer,” Michael says.

“I am,” Ashton says.

“You should join our band,” Michael says.

“I have,” Ashton says.

“What?” Michael says. Ashton holds up the can of coke.

“My payment,” he explains. “Meet the new drummer of-”

“5 Seconds of Summer,” Luke supplies.

“-5 Seconds of Summer,” Ashton finishes.

“I don’t even know your last name,” Michael says.

“I don’t know yours either,” Ashton says.

“Clifford,” Michael says.

“Irwin,” Ashton says.

“Like Steve Irwin?” Ashton groans.

“Yes, like Steve Irwin, no, I’m not his son, not at all related, don’t even like animals that much,” he says.

“Are you good?” Michael asks, disregarding Ashton entirely.

“I mean, I’m a session drummer,” Ashton says. “Draw your own conclusions.”

“Great,” Michael says happily. “We have practice this afternoon.”

“I already told him,” Luke says, and turns to Ashton. “Three p.m. I’ll pick you up.” Ashton grins at him, butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re going to have to give him your number, then, Ashton,” Michael says, watching the interaction between the two of them.

“I probably should,” Ashton agrees, holding his hand out for Luke’s phone. Luke passes it to him, and Ashton types in his number, saving himself as Better Drummer Than Garageband.

“Thank fuck,” Michael says, “because he’s been wanting to give it to you all evening. He thinks you’re cute.”  

“You’re behind the times, Mikey,” Luke says. “We’re going on a date.”

“I’m cooking him dinner,” Ashton tells Michael.

“What the fuck?” Michael demands. “When was this decided?”

“When you were sleeping,” Luke says. “On my pillow, by the way.”

“It’s so fucking small,” Michael says, chucking it at Luke, before rounding on Ashton. “I can’t believe I missed you asking Luke on a date. I’m never sleeping again.” Ashton’s saved from answering by an announcement cutting through loudly on the speakers.

“May I have your attention for flight BA8227,” a lady says. “This flight is now ready for boarding for rows twenty through thirty-one.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ashton says, shoving his things haphazardly into his backpack. “Where are you guys sat?”

“Uh, row twenty-one,” Luke says, stopping his packing to check his ticket. “You?”

“Thirty-nine,” Ashton says. “But I’m running to the queue as soon as they let me.”

“I’m going to the toilet, Luke,” Michael says. “Save me a space in the queue.”

“Take your fucking bag!” Luke shouts after him, and Michael flips him off as he speedwalks off to the toilets. Luke rolls his eyes, and turns back to Ashton.

“Want a hand carrying Michael’s things?” Ashton offers.

“Would you?” Luke says. “Thanks, Ashton.” Ashton permits himself a private smile at the way his name sounds in Luke’s voice.

They shove everything in their bags as quickly as possible and jog over to the queue, which is already at least fifteen people deep, but is moving, which is something.

“Hey,” Michael says, strolling over to them. “Thanks for bringing my stuff.”

“Bastard,” Luke tells him, and Michael grins.

“You love me,” he says. “You’re not boarding with us, are you, Ashton?” Ashton shakes his head.

“Just providing a bag-carrying service,” he says.

“Luke’ll give you your tip,” Michael says, kicking his bag forward as the queue moves. Luke doesn’t move, though, and neither does Ashton.

“See you in LA, then,” Ashton says to Luke, and Luke grins.

“See you,” he echoes, and Ashton, who’s had approximately three-and-a-half hours sleep, can’t help himself – he leans in, tiptoes slightly, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Luke’s lips.

“See you at practice,” Ashton says, leaning back, and relishing the flush on Luke’s cheeks. He desperately wants to lean in again, kiss Luke for real, but he stops himself. He only met the guy, like, eight hours ago, and he’s already joined his band and invited him over for a dinner date. “Text me.” Luke holds his phone up.

“I will,” he says. “I’ll text you as soon as we land.”

“Good,” Ashton says. “Now go, get on the plane.” Luke nods, throws Ashton one last smile, and steps forward to join Michael, who’s clearly been listening to their conversation.

“See you later, Michael,” Ashton calls, as he walks away.

“Don’t be late for practice!” Michael shouts back, and Ashton grins, and shakes his head.

-------

Half an hour later, Ashton’s finally on the plane. His backpack’s underneath the seat in front of him, his headphones are in, and he’s going to be home in just under twelve hours. And, perhaps even better than all of that, he’s going on a date with the hottest man alive.

As if on cue, his phone interrupts his music with a ding, and Ashton fishes it out of his pocket.

+447568392881 I know I said I’d text as soon as we landed, but I saw this really hot guy boarding the plane and I just had to tell you about him

Ashton grins.

Me Oh?  

Luke Yeah, he’s got this curly hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, about six foot, in incredible shape? You can’t miss him.

Me You could see his eyes from the plane? What are you, Hawkeye?

Luke Way to ruin the moment

Me Well, I’m just thinking – curly hair, gorgeous eyes, six foot (definitely a bit of a lowball estimate), in incredible shape – I saw a guy just like that earlier, only he had blue eyes.

Luke You’ll have to point him out to me when we land.

Me I will – I’ll be thinking about him for the whole flight.

It takes a while for the next message to come through, and the plane’s already gearing up to take off when his phone finally dings again.

Luke He’ll be thinking about you too.

[tisfan]

Could I request the #10 Valentine's Day prompt + Tony/Pepper, please?

Take me Flying

Despitethe last minute arrangements – which was really just a matter of texting hisnew (his new new) PA and letting her know he needed a good table somewhere thatnight – dinner was wonderful, as usual.

Tony’s new PA was not as good asPepper had been. But no one ever would be. And at least she wasn’t “NatalieRushman” who had, in fact, both literally and figuratively stabbed him in theback. And she was able to get him a good table at Daniel on almost no notice.So, she’d earned her ridiculous salary, once again.

Pepper looked up at him over squabsoup. “You have really had Happy carrying this around for eight years.”

“It’s always been you,” Tony said,and that was true. He was never going to want anyone else. When he’d been inAfghanistan he’d heard her calling his name. Everything after that wasinevitable.

“I can’t decide if you’re romanticor pathetic,” she said, poking her spoon at him. “This is really excellent, youshould at least pretend to eat something that doesn’t come in a paper wrapper.”

“I’m a basic man, Pepper,” Tonysaid. “I have basic tastes, and cheeseburgers are amazing.”

“Absolutely, Tony. You’re as basicas Ugg Boots and Pumpkin Spice Lattes.”

“I don’t even know what you justsaid.”

“You’re proving my point here,”Pepper said. She gave him that look of hers until he put something in his mouthand started chewing. Food was food, really. Fuel. Tony had – much like sleepand rest and business meetings – often resented the basic needs of his humanbody. It took time away from inventing and thinking and changing the world.What he liked about dining out was atmosphere and watching Pepper enjoyherself. 

“Besides,” Tony said, “you did sayyes, so it was a good return on investment.”

“I said yes because I can’t imagineinflicting you on the rest of the world,” Pepper teased.

“Truly, you’re a charitable woman,Pep, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to find out,”Pepper said.

They’d had their spats and theirfights, and Pepper had almost left him entirely because she had too muchanxiety about seeing him brought home in a box. It would happen one day, Tonyknew. He wasn’t capable of actually retiring any more than Barton was.

The world was going to need heroessome day. Tony couldn’t quite restrain himself from glancing upward, knowing,somewhere, out there, was an army that thought the Earth looked like aparticularly tasty morsel.

But Pepper had come to theconclusion that she was going to mourn him someday anyway. She might as welllove him while she had the time. Ephemeral.

All love was, in the end, afleeting moment of joy. It would endure for a lifetime, which was all any ofthem had.

“You looked lovely,” Tony offered.“And very surprised.”

“Oh, I’m surprised, all right,”Pepper said. “I’m surprised you let the kid get away. High school, Tony?Really? You were in your senior year at MIT when you were his age. It’s shortsighted.”

“I grew up too fast – or maybe tooslowly, depending on how you look at it – and I am still a hot mess. If hewants to take his time, ease into adulthood, I’m not going to push him. Thedoors are all still open for him, whichever way he wants to go.” And Tony wouldkeep upgrading his suit on the sly, and keep an eye on the kid, and he knew fora fact as soon as the Avengers needed Parker, the kid would be there. In themeanwhile, let him have a life, if he could. If there was time.

“He’s a good kid,” Pepper said.

“The best,” Tony agreed. “So, whenare we going to get married, do you think? Summer weddings are nice. Outdoors.I’m picturing like a beach in Maui somewhere.”

“We’ll have to set up some sort ofdecoy date,” Pepper said. “The press are already crazy.”

The waiter came and took away theempty plates, setting up for the next course. They did their jobs so well thatmost people didn’t even notice them, but Tony did, giving out a quick smile anda thank you.

“All right,” Tony said. “But still,when, do you think?”

“At least six months,” Pepper said.“It’ll take that long just to make sure I have the perfect dress.”

“Pepper, I can probably throwenough money at it to have the perfect dress tomorrow.”

“Tony, nine women cannot have ababy in a month,” Pepper said, slightly exasperated, the way she always was.But then, she cared what she looked like, and she always looked good. No matterwhat anyone said, beauty was not effortless. But that’s what Tony had peoplefor. He rarely cared what the suits looked like, just so long as they lookedgood. Other people could worry about that. He paid them well enough to do so.

“So, day after tomorrow?”

They were still debating the dateand how long it would take to have the perfect wedding arranged when thedessert course came and went. Tony really was all for just giving a guy in thecourthouse some cash and getting it on with. The wedding wasn’t the importantthing; it was finding the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with,and getting started on that process right away. But if pomp and ceremony wouldmake Pepper happy, he’d do that, too. Memories were important, right?

But dinner was over and Happyushered them into the backseat of the limo. Tony didn’t really like otherpeople driving, but Pepper preferred to use time in the car to unwind, whichmeant she wanted Tony in the back seat, with her. This time, however, shetapped the privacy screen, which went up immediately.

“What’s–” Tony started to ask, butshe hiked up her skirt to show off pale thighs, and straddled his lap. 

“We just got engaged, Tony, I thinkyou might have guessed what comes after that,” Pepper said.

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s an idea, wecan certainly do that.” His hands went to her hips, pushing the skirt up evenhigher to see– “What are you wearing?”

Pepper unbuttoned her blouse,showing off the delicate silver and blue matching bra. “What, this old thing?”

Tony laughed. “I have never seenthis before and you know it,” he scolded. The silver panels were all buttransparent, and he knew about ladies’ underwear to know that it would becompletely sheer when wet. He licked over one nipple to verify that theory andshe put her arms around his head, holding him in place while the skin beneathhis questing tongue tightened. “It’s a good color for you. I approve.”

“Do you?” Pepper leaned back alittle and Tony continued to explore down the length of her body, nuzzling ather ribs, her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel. “I seem to have seen asimilar color scheme recently.”

“It’s almost ready,” Tony promised.“And then, we’ll go flying.” The Rescue armor– it was a good color for her.Tony had considered pink initially until Pepper had told him point blank thatshe didn’t want to look like those ridiculous pink tool sets that craftsmanoverpriced for women.

“Take me flying now,” she told him,leaning all the way back on the bench.

“Yes, ma’am.” And Tony got to work,doing just that.

[starringstjames]

{ facie, 20, aest, she & her } ☆ did you hear the rumor? JESSE ST. JAMES has been spotted in the big apple! HE is TWENTY SIX y-o and works as a BROADWAY ACTOR. some things never change, because HE is still SOCIAL but also NARCISSISTIC. psst! we did our research and found out that HE is a compulsive liar and has driven his siblings away as he’s painted them as jealous and spiteful when that was never the case. i wonder how long JESS will play pretend! ☆ { jonathan groff, glee character }

cw. for mentions of eating disorders & drug use

about.

name: jesse anthony st. james age: 26 date of birth / zodiac: august 1st / leo gender: cismale pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: heterosexual hometown: staten island, new york occupation: currently in rehearsals for the new off-broadway show ‘the princess diaries: the musical’  family: margot st. james (nee. castello) - mother, anthony st. james - father, older sister, younger brother

background.

born in staten island to a pair of local chemists, jesse spent most of his childhood in a run-down house, sharing a bedroom with his sister. the st. james family had never left staten island, they had barely moved from the neighborhood for generation.

as a child, jesse constantly craved attention. he’d do anything if it meant people would praise him, and this usually involved harassing his sister into reenacting episodes of tv shows in living room together. eventually, to save their daughter the torture, the st. james parents enrolled jesse in a local youth theatre, hoping it would give him a place to get all of his energy out.

when jesse was nine, his mother fell pregnant again and gave birth to jesse’s younger brother ( jesse is not 100% convinced that all the st. james childhood share the same father but he has no proof of this ). jesse was immediately threatened by this, viewing his brother has competition and this was when he began taking his performing more seriously. he would not be overshadowed by a baby. 

jesse snagged his first lead role at age thirteen, playing the cat in a production of seussical jr. he spent every waking hour practicing lines and making sure he knew the songs and dances like the back of his hand. why it drove his family crazy, they humored him.

in high school, jesse was far from top of the food chain. being the lanky white boy, with a pretentious vocabulary and a hatred for ‘the ridiculous rap music’ but him at odds with the rest of his peers. but he was okay with his, when he got out of there and became famous they’d feel bad for not wanting to sit with him at lunch.

jesse’s success in performing gained the desired effect, with his parents loving to tell anyone who’d listen about how much of a star their son was going to be. jesse was even able to get his parents to leave his sister’s high school graduation early to come drive him to an audition.

a few weeks before jesse was set to start his senior year, the st. james’ relocated to manhattan. the years of being put on the back burner had done a number to his sister, which everyone else seemed to have notice besides jesse. they had to move so that she could be sent to an eating disorder clinic in manhattan. jesse jumped at the chance to move closer to the great white way, it didn’t matter if his sister had to work her way through a little bulimia in order for him to get that.

after graduation, jesse decided to skip the whole college thing, he wanted to get out into the world and began auditioning whenever he could, earning money on the side by working at his parents’ pharmacy. it was this work on the side that led to finding his eleven year old brother unconscious in the storeroom, having knocked himself out by inhaling a bunch of the cleaning spray. 

after the confrontation that went down between his parents and his brother, jesse decided it was time to get his own place, finding a small (insanely overpriced) apartment in new york city and getting a job as a cater waiter.

this job, however, was only needed for a few weeks before jesse booked his first gig as the gerry understudy in beautiful on broadway. the first night he went on for the role, he invited his whole family, but his parents were the only ones to show up, saying that his brother and sister had been busy. jesse knew that was bullshit and when his cast mates asked him why they hadn’t seen his siblings at stagedoor, jesse told them that they had never come to see him perform, that they had never supported him. which wasn’t true. but it felt it.

the next year, after his contract for beautiful ran out, jesse performed the role of anatole in great comet, unfortunately only for a few weeks before the shows closing. 

during a livestream he did on instagram during his run in great comet, jesse was asked about his family. and he said that he had grown up in poverty - which wasn’t true. staten island wasn’t very pretty, but they weren’t poor. but jesse saw all of the praise he was getting for overcoming adversity, and things only escalated from there.

in 2018, jesse joined the north american tour of waitress as dr. pomatter and the interviews that followed his casting on theatre publications only fueled his fire for making things up. when asked about how he got into theatre, jesse confidently stated that he turned to theatre to get away from his sister’s self-destructive behavior and her rampent jealousy and that he got his first professional role only hours after his little brother overdosed in front of him to get attention because jesse was succeeding. jesse couldn’t help how the way people patted him on the back felt.

as the tour came to a close, jesse got a phone call from his sister. the two hadn’t spoken in months, but she had finally stumbled upon his interview. she accused his of being a liar, stating that she had come to every single show he had done as a kid and even given up her free time to help him with lines, accusing him of using her sickness for his own gain and said that his brother barely touched drugs and that his OD was just a case of peer pressure from some bad eggs at school and that his parents had no clue he had been saying any of this. his family was officially cutting ties with him. jesse didn’t say anything, he just hung up the phone and made a tweet about how his family was toxic. he didn’t need them, people already thought he had gotten this far without them, he could do it for real.

jesse’s 2020 plans include rehearsals for a new musical, the princess diaries: the musical as michael. it’s jesse first time originating a role and his first time off-broadway and he knows it will do leaps and bounds for his career. this will show his family the real jesse, the one everyone else was seeing, the hardworking and driven kid who overcame everything thrown his way.

headcanons.

— jesse’s favorite musical is sunday in the park with george, and is counting down the days until he’s old enough to play george. — jesse has a shellfish allergy, which is a real shame because he loves the idea of being rich enough to order lobster at a fancy hotel restaurant. — besides the girl he went to prom with, jesse’s never had a girlfriend. it’s a lot easier for him to keep up his professional life by sticking to hook ups with people who won’t do harm to his career. — once he earns a tony award for acting, jesse wants to move into directing. and after that, release an album and after that, move into hollywood acting. he wants to be a EGOT winner really badly.  — jesse met patti lupone when he was fifteen on a field trip to look at various new york tourist spots. she was buying a croissant at a local cafe. it was a highlight of the trip.

connections.

(open to any gender unless otherwise specified)

best friend — they’ve known each other for years and jesse always makes sure to get them the best seats when they come see his shows. he’ll even excuse them bootlegging if they really want.  co-star — weather it be a show they did in the past or a cast member in the princess diaries, jesse wants to make the best impression he can and build up a strong connection with his cast. he hates backstage drama. rival — they’ve been stealing roles from each other and jesse doesn’t hide his negative feelings. hook-up — a one night stand, or a repeat offender. let’s just hope no one catches feels ( female or non-binary character ) anything else you can think of!

@pretendinghq​

[renegade-is-in-my-blood]

Being in the blogging business for around 8 years now I came to learn a lot. Let’s hear from the old bitter blogger about the difference between being an ambassador and being a customer. When you’re investing more than you’re gaining from the collaboration it’s not really a collaboration you’re looking for.

There is a new trend going around social media, especially Instagram. I’ve been getting collaboration offers on a daily basis even pre COVID times but now the amount of pseudo collaborations increased.

Hands down it is an incredible business strategy from the business point of view.

Everyone wants to be an ambassador.

Ambassador became an even more prestigious title than an influencer. Influencer posses some sort of responsibility for their actions whilst ambassador is just being paid for simply being.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Many brands use this knowledge to the fullest and offers these pseudo collaborations.

So what is a pseudo collaboration?

Well, it starts off by being contacted by a brand.

You’ll receive a ctrl+c ctrl+v message from a brand-name-scout. The message contains several cute emojis and addresses you as a gorgeous, pretty, cutie, love, honey, sweety, and if they really want to get you, even by your Instagram name.

It’s usually followed by a bunch of compliments about your fashion style, vibe, Instagram, or whatever. Then there is a lie about following or just generally noticing you for a while without ever seeing your insta story, like any of your posts, or even actually following you.

Now it’s time for an offer beneficial for you.

Usually, it’s free products, a way to earn a commission, or just the sheer option to be able to call yourself an ambassador. Every single brand out there offers a “support” like anyone really knows what’s that supposed to mean. I had several ones even offering me a travel trips, but never elaborated on it after my further questioning.

Now comes the hook with a “do you want to learn more?” question.

If you think I’m exaggeration for the story and I can’t be generalizing all of the collaborations offers into a simple standard form I wish you were right. Here are some of the screenshots of my current Instagram DMs:

You might think: “What’s wrong with that? They’re trying so don’t be mean. Just ignore them.” let me remind you how dumb Instagram algorithm is.

If your account is followed by bots, messaged by bots, liked by bots Instagram assumes you’re one of them or you got hacked by them. Sweet of them for trying to protect you thought, but holy hell did that made everything super complicated for me.

I got several messages from the brand scouts messaging me again because their previous account got deleted.

No shit Sherlock, it’s like you can’t keep creating accounts, following and messaging a bunch of people at once and ask for money anymore.

So now every time my account gets suspicious activity such as too many likes/follows/messages Instagram suspects my account got hacked. Each time they require I change my password and let me tell you I ran out of password ideas months ago.

That’s not the worst part though.

After each time I change my password I’m blocked for 7 days from liking, following, or adding tags to my posts and that sucks. Just to get a better picture of this issue I’m blocked approximately once sometimes twice per month.

The block comes hand in hand with a shadowban that lingers for god knows how long, meaning Instagram is not gonna support you in any way. That’s why I have around 40 likes on a posts with 47K followers most of which are bots anyway.

I loath Instagram app yet I spend hours a day on the hellish site and I’m not only one.

We spend so much time on Instagram anyway so when a chance to earn money form it comes along you’re tempted to take it. Brands know that.

Imagine you’re a small-town girl with around 400 followers on Instagram. You already feel pretty popular right?

Now imagine you get the messages I shared above but you get just one. Someone out there thinks you’re so popular they want you on their team, you are just like the big influencers, you get job offers for being an Instagram star. You’re the next Kardashian.

You can have all of the things they said to you BUT you need to do something for them first. You have to pay for it.

And here is the catch with all of the pseudo collaborations.

What they don’t say to you in their first message is what it’s gonna cost you.

Many offers you free stuff but you need to pay for the one-time shipping. Some brands offer you a unique discount of around 40-60% off so you’ll pay just a part of the price and you can call yourself an ambassador.

I don’t know about you, but I thought that was called the customer. You buy a product, you wear it and occasionally you take photo of it on your social media sites. The new term is an ambassador apparently.

I get why so many people agree to this kind of collaboration. It’s new for you. It makes you feel good and successful in your friend’s and families eyes. And there is that hopefully undertone of making money from it.

Aren’t the brands unprofitable when they give away discounts and free stuff?

In a theory, yes, but there is one thing all of the brands that messaged me had in common except for the audacity.

Overpriced products.

I got messaged by jewelry stores, fashion stores and gym equipment stores most of the time. I took the time and did my research on every one of them.

When a store sold jewelry, they had the same products as the rest of the jewelry stores I got contacted by. A small variety of around 8 products most of them sold out anyway. And let’s not forget the ridiculously high prices. You can’t charge a cheap Chinese necklace you can get on amazon or aliexpress for under a 1$ for 40$.

So even if you’re paying just around 30$ for your ambassador order they are still making a profit on your wannabe Instagramer need cuz they purchased said items for far less.

Well, I’m being a little miss know it all right?

How can I talk about pseudo collaboration like this when it’s all based on assumptions. Well you know me, I’m curious as hell and I actually went through 3 pseudo collaborations myself just to prove a point.

I literally spend money so I can tell you about it right now so here is how my 3 pseudo collaborations went like.

All of the ones I choose were jewelry based pseudo collaborations. With the corona times, post offices are overwhelmed with parcels. I ordered big parcels in recent times and they arrived with around a month delay. I figured smaller jewelry in an envelope form would be quicker to arrive and I was right.

Pseudo collaboration number one VONACHI:

A simple yet luxurious-looking website with very few decent pieces of jewelry, offered me 3 free pieces to take a photo in and promote. I would also get a 60% discount code and every time my code would be used I would receive 30% of the money amount. Incredibly overpriced amount in the first place.

Here is the list of all of the benefits they offered.

The scout that approached me was very eager. They kept insisting I place my order right away. No time to waste.

To make it clear I got a simple code to apply in a check out that subtracted the price and I got the pieces for free. All I had to do was pay a 20$ shipping fee what seems like nothing but for 3 small necklaces, it is way too much.

Another thing that was odd was that I was required to take a screenshot of my order and send it back to scout. I guess to prove I was legit.

After bunch of further compliments and claims how excited they are to be working with me we ended our conversation.

If you think I was being reckless to give my credit card and home address to such a questionable site don’t be.

Honestly, I trust zero people, sometimes I don’t even trust myself. I used a card I have no to very little money on and I got it shipped to a work address.

My parcel from china arrived in around a month and a half. I got one black box with one necklace and the other 2 necklaces were in small plastic bags. I received a note about welcoming me to the program and asking me to contact vonachi’s official Instagram account for setting up my discount code and that’s exactly what I did. The official page responded after longer time period with just a “this is your code” message. I took a photo, tagged vonachi as a business partner, and shared my code. I did my part and I was never contacted by them again.

My 60% code is VONAMBNAT and as you might have guessed no one used it so far.

Or at least no one told me it was used. If someone were to use my code I would be contacted by vonachi and here is the problem. I’m supposed to trust them with their credibility cuz there is no other way for me to check it for myself. This is what it’s missing from the old Time collaborations of mine. I would get a tracking code, an account login, graphs, statistics, and one on one communication with a brand in my previous collaborations. But you know Golden times for influencers are long gone.

Now I’m left to just simply trust them.

Why would they ever confess someone used my code? If a customer gets 60% off and I’m getting 30% from already discounted item there is just a very little left for vonachi. They don’t say anything and get to keep my 30% share.

They didn’t put much effort into tracking system cuz they are not expecting their ambassadors/customers to make any sales anyway.

The products were not that bad. They came in a bit rusty and tangled but I was excepting much worse.

Hell, I was not expecting them to legitimately arrive.

Pseudo collaboration number 2: ENGELSINN

I initiated this pseudo collaboration myself. Engelsinn paid a significant amount of money to Instagram promoted post and that’s where I found out they are looking for ambassadors.

I filled out an application form.

This one felt more legit cuz they actually asked for followers count and all of the communication occurred via email. Automated emails but still it reminded me of good old days.

I was given a 40% discount code to use on my first order. The shipping was free but it still cost me another 20$ to get the product. Since placing my first order I got a 20% discount code “nat7x20” for my followers to get 20% off their engelsinn order.

When my code is redeemed 2 times I get one jewelry of my choice for free.

Do I even need to mention that I didn’t get any email since?

Well, that’s not exactly true I got 2 more emails each with another discount code I could use for 24 hours and buy more of their stuff. But none about redeemed code.

Engelsinn is a german based brand and living so close I got my parcel in around a week. I got myself a rose gold knot bracelet and I feel like a hypocrite but I actually really love this one and wear it every day. I know I wouldn’t get it if it wasn’t for the research but I’m glad I did.

Btw the ad about engelsinn looking for ambassador is still up there and it still says they have only a few places left. It’s been 2 months.

Pseudo collaboration number 3: CUZETTE

I got messaged by them on my Instagram and their offer was super confusing. They promised it all. 3 free stuff now, free stuff every month, paid trip to several destinations, and even 50$ voucher. The scout called me sweety exactly 9 times during our conversations. It was super annoying.

So I choose another 3 free items and paid another 20$ for shipping. When I asked about the 50$ voucher I was told I would need to refer 5 friends who would also become cuzette ambassador or delegate as they named it, to get the 50$. No info about the travel trips though.

I was told to contact the official page for more info but it took days for them to finally reply with nothing new just more compliments and excitement about the future. It’s been 2 months and I still haven’t received my order just as I was expecting.

Later on, I endorsed in conversation with several other brands asking for more info, looking for something different than standard copy and paste form. Unsuccessful.

Every time I asked how many ambassadors they have in their program the answer was always “around 3000“. Once again, you have 3000 customers and not 3000 ambassadors. If the only people who buy from you are people you ask to buy from you, you’re doing something wrong.

But your business plan is on point.

When I asked about who and where makes their products I was either met with a silence or a sweet talk about a responsible brand.

These brands are providing people with content. You get to take photos of the items you ordered and you get to be as creative as you want. In these COVID times so many brands had to cancel or postpone their collaborations with bloggers or Instagrammers. I saw huge travel/luxurious instagramers switch form hotel and travel collaborations to promoting kitchen wipes. Times are tough and you got to do what you got to do.

Yet these small businesses with hight prices are thriving?

You know it’s not about the product but about the potential.

Profiting on greediness.

So smart.

To prove my point even further I got to confess one more thing. I mentioned before that I manage Instagram accounts for different brands and among them is one fashion store. I was not only at the ambassadors’ side but on the scouting side as well.

All I had to do was search for people who looked like they would be willing to become an ambassador for our store and had decent amount of followers. I had saved message form and all I did was try to guess peoples names so the message seemed more personal. Once they agreed to a discussion I let my boss take the lead.

So yeah, try to really think about the offers you get.

Look at it from all points of view and ask yourself if it’s profitable for anyone else but the brand.

If you want to have offers pouring your way try adding #ad #spon #collab to your next Instagram posts. That’s how they look for their next ambassador.

Everyone wants to be an ambassador. 

Pseudo Collaborations- Everyone wants to be an Ambassador Being in the blogging business for around 8 years now I came to learn a lot. Let's hear from the old bitter blogger about the difference between being an ambassador and being a customer.

[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Chapter 3

Cover art: @redheadgleek​

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage​

Author’s Note:

I'm in a terrible mood whenever I haven't slept enough, and Blaine in this story is just as moody and irritable when sleep-deprived :-) You have been warned!

Chapter 3: Mr. Grumps Down in the Dumps

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

That Saturday, Blaine was in a horrible mood. He’d been woken in the middle of the night by loud squeals. Cooper’s latest conquest was a screamer, it seemed. What’s more, she hadn’t left discreetly after the hook-up. Instead, she stayed for breakfast, never noticing how her shrill peppiness made both Anderson brothers wince, and she addressed Blaine like he was a child. Now, he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t too tall and that he looked young, but he looked teenager young, not toddler young.

When she exclaimed over his ‘cute curls’, and threaded her fingers through them, he gritted through his teeth, “Don’t touch me!” and stomped away, his stomach growling in protest when he left his breakfast half finished.

He was working on an essay for school when Cooper came in and flung himself onto Blaine’s bed. “She’s gone, squirt.”

“Don’t call me squirt,” Blaine snapped. “And good riddance. You sure know how to pick them, ugh.”

“She had great boobs.”

“That must have been the only great thing about her.”

Cooper tilted his head to the side, conceding the point.

“And now I’m starving because she chased me away from breakfast!”

Cooper chuckled. “Aw, Blainey, you didn’t like having your curls played with by a beautiful lady?”

Blaine shot him a dark glare, but it only made Coop laugh out loud.

“If you’re only coming here to laugh at me, you can clear out. I have work to do, and I don’t need any distractions.”

Coop rolled onto his stomach. “I came here to touch base about our plans this evening.”

“Plans?”

“The wedding! It starts at 6.30 PM, it says on the invitation. And it’s in Brooklyn, so we should probably leave by 5.30.”

Blaine groaned. He’d forgotten all about the wedding.

“I got you your guitar!” Cooper said, dashing out of the room, and coming back with a gleaming guitar case. “Here you go!”

Blaine’s fingers itched to open the case and try out the guitar, but he had school work to do, so with another groan, he turned away from Cooper and his bribe and focused on his research.

“And I’ll bring you a sandwich. And coffee. Okay?”

True to his word, Cooper brought Blaine food and coffee five minutes later. Blaine grabbed the sandwich right away, bit into it and mumbled a fervent thanks.

“5.30, squirt, don’t forget!”

Blaine, his mouth full to bursting, just nodded, letting the ‘squirt’ slide for now. Getting food in his system was more important. Ah, but he was hungry!

K&B

At four o’clock that afternoon, Cooper bounded back into Blaine’s room.

“Blainey… Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding? I know how long it takes for you to fix your curls and make yourself pretty!”

Blaine let out a deep sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll stop working and hop into the shower.”

Cooper beamed. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“Oh, Coop? What did you buy them as a wedding present?”

“The pet pavilion, of course! They’re going to be so pleased!”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “If you want me to tag along, buy a NORMAL present in my name, please. You can waste your money on this ridiculous overpriced cat stuff, but I want to give the brides something useful.”

“Like what?” Cooper asked.

“Like a nice duvet. Or a set of bath-towels. Or some top-of-the-range kitchen stuff. Let me see the invitation, please?”

Cooper went to fetch it, and handed it to Blaine, who looked up the wedding registry. He was pleased to see that the brides had, in the meantime, added regular stuff like pots and pans and a clothes hamper.

“Get me that set of fruit bowls. That’s a nice gift.”

                        Cooper saluted. “Consider it done. A fabulous gift from me and a boring one from you.”

By the time Blaine was showered and groomed and suited up, Cooper had bought a beautiful bouquet of flowers with a congratulations card for the brides as well, and handed it to him with a wide smile. “All set now! Let’s go!”

When the town car came to a halt at the address mentioned on the invitation, Blaine frowned as he got out. The neighborhood looked derelict. And the people hanging around seemed a little too interested in Cooper’s gleaming car, which stood out like a sore thumb.

Blaine shivered and hoped they wouldn’t get mugged. That was all he needed to ruin the day further.

Cooper seemed to get the same vibe, and said to their chauffeur, “Best not stay here, Bill. I’ll call you when I need you to come pick us up.”

“Right, sir. Good evening, sir.”

And the car drove off. At once, Blaine felt very vulnerable. Holding the bouquet, he wouldn’t be able to fight if someone were to attack him.

“Let’s go inside,” he urged Cooper.

The building looked just as run-down on the inside. There was no elevator, and the stairs were worn and creaky.

The apartment numbers weren’t clearly indicated, but there was music floating down, so they only had to follow the sound to find the right place.

When Cooper knocked, nobody seemed to hear him. Not the first time, not the second, nor the third. After five tries, Blaine huffed, shoved the flowers at his brother, and tried to open the door. It slid open easily to reveal a loud and colorful chaos. All the guests were clapping and dancing, and in the middle were two gorgeous women in white dresses, singing Valerie and dancing with each other and giggling.

“Well, nothing like jumping straight into the party,” Cooper said. He put the flowers and the card on the nearest table and joined the dancers.

Blaine stayed where he was, looking at the brides and their guests and feeling very much out of place.

“Ooooh,” the brunette bride sighed as she sank onto the sofa after the song. “You know, Britts, that was the first time. That I felt like… I wanted to be with you forever. You were dancing with Mike, and I came to dance next to you, and you smiled. And I just knew. That you were the one.”

“Awwww,” Cooper cooed loudly, and more than just the brides’ heads snapped up.

“Oh, the last guests have arrived!” said a clear, high voice. “Welcome, welcome!”

The voice belonged to a tall man with blue eyes, a high coif and a clear complexion. He was dressed in a velvet burgundy three-piece suit that hugged him in all the right places.

Blaine felt attraction flare up bright and wild, but squashed it quickly when he saw that Mr. Gorgeous only had eyes for Cooper. Figures. Who’d see me next to Coop?

He wished he could just disappear. Nobody wanted him here anyway, not even Cooper, who was charming everyone already and having a splendid time, so it seemed.

But he felt himself grabbed by the arm as Coop loudly proclaimed, “And this is my younger brother Blaine. He was in show choir too!”

Blaine, taken off-guard, could do no more than say, “Uh, hi!”

Coop whispered in Blaine’s ear, “Smile! I saw you looking at the fashionable guy. If you want him, hit him with that Anderson charm!”

Blaine did as he was told, but he might as well have been invisible for all the reaction he got - a few polite nods and a once-over from a few of the girls. Mr. Gorgeous didn’t even spare him a glance. He was too busy sucking up to Coop, and mentioning emphatically that he was single, and hadn’t had much luck in love so far. Unlike Ohio, where he was from, New York City had plenty of gay men, but none that wanted to commit, it seemed.

Coop nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not ready to settle down yet, but my brother is, and he tells me the same as you.”

Coop helpfully pointed to Blaine again, but Mr. Gorgeous didn’t look his way.

Blaine sank deeper into his sulk, scowling when Mr. Gorgeous urged everyone to head up the fire escape to the roof for the ceremony and then went up the stairs right in front of him, flaunting his endless legs and perfect ass in pants that seemed painted on.

He paid little attention to the ceremony, though he noticed that the man officiating was delectable too, tall, dark and handsome, and with a smile that rivalled Cooper’s in charm and intensity.

After the ceremony, Mr. Gorgeous and a tiny loud brunette went around with sparkling wine and platters of hors d’oeuvres. There was a wide assortment of finger food, all of it delicious, and for dessert a cake that was light and fluffy and so scrumptious that Blaine indulged in it until his stomach hurt, and then he felt disgusted with himself and even grumpier than before. He sat down on the nearest chair, feeling queasy, and hoping that Coop wouldn’t stay too long.

The brides’ first dance was beautiful. Even in the midst of his sulk, he had to admit that. Their faces were radiant, their moves were flawless, and they were perfectly in sync at all times. After the dance was over, they stayed put for another while, holding on to each other and whispering in low voices, punctuating each sentence with a kiss.

It wasn’t until the others joined them on the makeshift dance floor that it dawned on Blaine he had seen hide nor hair of the brides’ parents. Wasn’t it customary to have a father-daughter dance? And where were the drunk uncles and the loud aunts? Come to think of it, Blaine hadn’t seen anyone around from another age bracket than his own. Well, except for Cooper.

Even the officiant looked student-aged. Hmm…

Blaine looked around at the terrace. Tastefully decorated, yes, but it had clearly been done on a shoestring budget.

The food, too, however stellar, had all been clearly home-made, including the wedding cake. The sparkling wine had tasted great, but it had definitely not been champagne.

When he heard police sirens cut through the music for a moment, all his misgivings about the neighborhood came back with a vengeance, and he wondered who on earth would want to get married in a place like that.

It was nice enough for a party, he had to give them that. Lots of room, good acoustics. But it had more of a party vibe than it screamed wedding.

He headed to the table that held the presents from people who hadn’t bought something from the wedding registry, and got even more suspicious. The only decent gift on the table was a set of crystal champagne glasses in a silver bucket, donated by someone who called herself Sugar. The rest was a mishmash of cheap kitchen accessories and low-quality booze. How anyone could think a six-pack of Budweiser constituted a proper wedding gift, Blaine couldn’t fathom.

Nearby stood a tray with wedding favors. Blaine raised his eyebrows at the tulle bags holding a few tea lights. It was elegantly done, yes, calligraphed with the brides’ names and a romantic quotation, but again, they had kept their expenses as low as possible.

If they were all this poor, how on earth had they gotten acquainted with Cooper? The Andersons were an old money family, and Cooper had struck out on his own and become richer still. He hung out with celebrities and other billionaires all the time. When and where would he have met the brides? Did they actually know him at all? Or did they just send the invite to angle for a handsome gift? That was it, wasn’t it? Cooper had been duped into spending a fortune on that stupid pet mansion, or whatever it was! And they probably weren’t even getting married for real, and this was all a sham for Coop’s benefit!

Blaine was livid in Cooper’s stead, and stewed in silence until the brunette bride tapped on the bedazzled pink microphone they were now using for karaoke, shushed everyone and thanked all the guests for coming, and in particular Kurt (pointing to Mr. Gorgeous), who was the best friend anyone had ever had, and who had planned the whole wedding, apparently.

Cooper whooped and clapped, and Blaine couldn’t keep it to himself any longer, so he let it all out.

“Okay, this charade stops NOW! Maybe you fooled Cooper, but I can see right through you. This whole party is as fake as all get out! If it were real, you’d be getting married with your family surrounding you, not with just a handful of friends! If it were real, you’d have chosen an actual wedding venue, instead of this… this dump in the middle of nowhere! If it were real, you’d have had everything handled by professionals, instead of taking advantage of your friend to whip something up on the cheap for you. And all that for what? For that ridiculous pet pavilion that Cooper shelled out good money for? Is that really worth all this deception? You disgust me! You’re awful to take advantage of my brother this way, and I won’t stand for it!”

As soon as Blaine had gotten it all off his chest, he looked at everyone’s shocked faces and felt awful. Had he misjudged? The brides seemed aghast at his accusations, the guests looked at him like he was a train wreck happening, and Kurt… Gorgeous Kurt glared at him as if he wanted to tear Blaine limb from limb.

[nifflersfancy]

Bite The Curb

[Inspired by Rostered On, featuring Sassy Remus. I don’t know what else to say. I wrote this within like 30 minutes and checked it very briefly, don't kill me. Enjoy??

Read it here on AO3]

Remus could hear her coming. Everyone could. Everyone in the building had known where she was and what she was doing from the moment that she entered the small and overpriced shop that Remus worked at.

They sold DVDs, games, game consoles, DVD players, phones, laptops and various other consoles and forms of technology. They were like a CEX but full-priced. Remus thought it was a stupid idea but they were the only place willing to hire a sarcastic arsehole teenager with no experience. He was now a sarcastic 22 year old arsehole that was stuck in a job that he hated.

She had slammed the door open so harshly that Remus had checked them for damage when she wasn’t looking. He had never seen the woman before, although did kind of recognise the younger lad that was with her. Not from coming in the shop but there was a lot of shops down the high street. Perhaps he was a regular or worker to one of them.

“I’m a bit concerned.” Remus didn’t even look up when he heard the familiar voice speak those familiar words. Peter was always worried about something, especially since he had found out that their boss, Horace, was planning on making Peter Assistant Manager soon. Remus had assured him that the old man had planned on changing Peter’s position when the shorter lad was barely skating by and doing the bare minimum but he wouldn’t hear it. He did everything he could to prove that he was management material.

Now, Peter went out of his way to make sure that everything ran perfectly in the store and it truly did make a difference. Sales had gone up, thefts had gone down, the shop was cleaner and everyone was happier. Apart from Remus, who was usually put on the shop floor, where he wouldn’t have to face the customers as much and his interactions with them went as far as pointing them in the right direction.

“About what? I’ll behave, I promise.” They were understaffed today, for the first time in a long time, meaning that Remus was helping on the tills with Peter whilst Marlene and James were testing consoles and DVDs/games. When it would get quiet, Remus would be freed to go on the shop floor until it got busy.

“Not about you.” Peter tutted, fiddling with a pen in his hand nervously. “Her. That woman.” Remus then looked up and saw that Peter was subtly nodding towards the obnoxious woman and her son. Remus scoffed.

“Why? They stopped burning witches at the stake in like 1693, she’ll be fine.” He muttered sarcastically with an eye roll as the labels that he was printing began to come out of the machine. He checked them all briefly as they came through. He merely smirked when he felt Peter hit him on the arm. Before Peter could scold him, he had to address a customer.

“Hi, how are you?” He greeted in his usual cheery voice, a polite smile on his face. Remus looked up, raising a brow as an xbox was dumped on the counter in front of them, clearly shoved into its box.

“Not too good, actually. I need to return this. Now.” Remus looked back down, already annoyed by the woman’s very clearly fake smile and sharp voice. As if whatever was wrong was Peter’s fault. Remus had no poker face at all and knew that the displeasure was clearer on his face than it was on the awful woman’s.

“Okay, no problem! I can do that. What’s wrong with it?” Peter asked, pulling the box closer, logging into their system and then scanning the box whilst simultaneously putting the xbox more neatly into the box.

“It’s broken. It doesn’t work.” The woman said, as if it were obvious. Remus rolled his eyes, sure that the woman wouldn’t see but was surprised to hear a short laugh that was quickly covered by a cough. The lad around Remus’ age, clearly her son or a relative, given their shared looks, stood beside her and was watching Remus closely. Although unlike the cold look in the ghastly woman’s eyes, the young lad appeared to be holding back laughter, his eyes shining with amusement.

Remus looked down, unsure of how to react, and kept checking the labels as they all stood in silence for a few moments before Peter spoke up again.

“It doesn’t seem to be scanning.” He said with a frown. Remus looked over and held a hand out, taking the scanner from Peter, who let it go willingly so that Remus could have a go. He did everything he could to scan it as the conversation continued.

“Well, what does that mean?”

“It means it’s not in our system.” A brief pause as Peter looked over at Remus, who was now aggressively trying to get it to work with a scanner from another till. “When did you buy it?” He questioned when Remus gave up, putting the xbox back on the counter between them but now watched the interaction openly between them, refusing to look the son in the eyes. He could feel his stare. “When did you buy it?”

He met his eyes for a second and, very maturely, pulled a funny face at the other lad, which only got him a grin in return. Why had he thought that would get him to stop staring? He turned his attention back to the conversation.

“Well… I don’t know.” The woman tutted. “Look, can you hurry this, I’ve got a lot to do today.” Well, Remus had nowhere to go for another two hours and he knew that Peter didn’t finish for another five so they could drag it out for as long as they wanted if she didn’t stop being so rude.

“Alright, sorry.” Peter somehow managed to sound so cheery as he smiled at the woman. Remus would have told her to fuck off by now, had he been in Peter’s position. “Have you got a receipt?”

The woman looked at him with a look that clearly showed how stupid she thought that idea was. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t hang on to every piece of rubbish I find.” She scoffed.

“Well, we can’t really do anything without a receipt for proof of purchase.” Peter said apologetically, looking at Remus unsurely, as if he thought that Remus would have a better answer than ‘fuck off’.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I spend a lot of money here, you know!” She announced loudly, clearly trying to intimidate them into giving her what she wanted. Remus could tell that Peter was close to giving in so he subtly elbowed him. The woman looked from Remus to Peter several times, clearly seeing the apologetic look on Peter’s face and the unimpressed one on Remus’.

“Look, mother… I told you that this wouldn’t work.” Ah, so he does speak. The other lad had a surprisingly soft voice and his posh accent suited his stiff posture and immaculate image well. Remus felt like rubbish in comparison to him.

“Quiet, Sirius.” She hissed. Clearly not wanting to give up and leave now that she had caused such a scene, she lifted her bag onto the counter and began searching through it quickly, glancing up at the two workers every few seconds as if expecting them to change their minds and just give in. “Bloody ridiculous.” She muttered, as if that would help as well as she continued her aggressive search before she let out a triumphant noise and slammed a receipt down on the counter.

“There you go. Right, can I have my money back now, please?” She questioned, clearly annoyed at the way she had been treated. Peter had a look at the receipt and frowned, showing it to Remius before putting the receipt on the counter and pushing the xbox closer to her.

“This is from another shop.” Peter pointed out, his polite and cheery way faltering, grin now undeniably fake.

“No, it’s not.”

“...Yes, it is.” Remus couldn’t help smirking as he watched the exchange. “I can’t return this.”

“Why not?” She demanded.

“Because you didn’t buy it here?” It sounded like a question. Remus could not believe how ridiculous this woman was. How thick she was.

“Well, what does it matter where I bought it? You sell them here so just put it on the shelf and sell it.” She scoffed.

“I thought you said it was broken?” Remus wanted to intervene so badly but he had promised that he would keep his mouth shut.

“Well, after you fix it, obviously.” The woman scoffed, looking at Peter with so much disgust that Remus saw him shrink back, frowning deeply. “God, you checkout people are thick in the head. Look, can I have my money back or not?”

“I’m sorry but we’ve got a lot of people waiting and we really need to sort this out.” Remus cut in. He could feel Peter looking at him but also knew that the smaller lad felt relieved that the focus was off of him. The other lad, Sirius apparently, looked impressed and even more amused as he continued to openly stare at him.

“I don’t care about that, I was here first.” She practically spat with a smile just as fake as Remus’ had been, leaning closer to the counter in what Remus was sure was supposed to be an intimidating manner. But Remus wasn’t so easily intimidated and wouldn’t stand for her shit. “God, whatever happened to the customer’s almost right, eh?”

That got a few people to look over to see what the commotion was about so Remus waited a few seconds for everyone to look away before he leaned closer in a way that looked casual and friendly but as he spoke, his tone was the exact opposite and deadly quiet.

“Look, bitch..” He began, voice dangerously slow, fake smile still in place. “The only way you’re getting any money back is if you manage to drag your fat arse over this counter, and get it out of the till. Mind you, if you do get over this counter, I will stomp your arse into the ground ‘American History X’ style.” He practically hissed before straightening up slightly and looking her up and down with a look of complete disgust before smirking. “Bite the curb, bitch.”

As he stgraightened up, he realised that Peter had been nodding along to everything that he had said, Sirius (stupid name) was staring at him with his eyebrows raised so high that Remus feared that they would disappear into his hairline and the woman was looking at him with complete shock and horror on her face. He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and didn't need to turn around to see who it was.

“Is everything alright over here? You’ve got quite a queue.” Horace’s cheerful voice spoke. Remus glanced over his shoulder to smile innocently at the man.

“Of course, sir. This poor lady is just terribly confused-” Remus began but was cut off by the awful woman, who was now flushed and trembling slightly. Out of fear or rage, he wasn't sure, but it was an amusing sight.

“Th-this… This man had just threatened me!” She shrieked. Remus frowned in fake confusion, glancing at Peter, who was doing the same. He risked a glance at the woman’s son and saw that his face appeared to be confused as well. Bravo.

“Who? Our Remus? He would do no such thing. Would you, Remus?” Horace chortled, squeezing Remus’ shoulder.

“Of course not, sir. We were just trying to help her with her xbox and she started yelling.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“It’s true, sir. She called us thick as well but we still tried to help her. She just wouldn’t listen.” Horace’s eyes hardened slightly at that. Despite how useless the woman could be, he would not tolerate abuse to his staff.

“I will not be having that. Leave at once.” It took Hoace, their security guard Frank and James to get the shrieking woman out of the shop.

“That was fun.” Remus said with a happy sigh as he pulled the labels all out of the machine now that they were all finished printing and had been checked. “Maybe I should work on the tills more often.

“Over my dead body.” Remus merely laughed and entered the main area of the shop to relabel.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you usually tell customers to bite the curb or was my mother just a lucky case?” Remus frowned at the voice and looked up from where he had been fishing through his bag in an attempt to find his car keys. The lad from earlier, Sirius, was stood down the alleyway by the side of the shop smoking the end of a cigarette. He finished it and flicked it further down the alley.

“Do you usually wait outside peoples work for them or am I a lucky case?” Remus retorted sarcastically, raising a brow, although his heart was beating unnaturally fast. Was it because the lad was outrageously gorgeous and part of Remus wanted to climb him like a tree or because he had threatened an old woman and now her son was waiting for him down an alley? He really wasn’t sure.

“Very witty. I like you Remus.” Remus practically shit himself at the fact that the other lad knew his name but then he remembered Horace saying it. And then remembered that he was also wearing a nametag and wanted to slam his head against the brick wall that Sirius now straightened up from leaning on.

When Remus didn’t say anything else and just glanced around them unsurely, Sirius chuckled and moved closer. “I vouched for you. You know, to your boss. Told him my mother was losing her shit in her old age. He seemed to buy it.”

“Oh…” That hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. “Oh… Thank you.”

“So, it looks like you owe me.”

“Are… Are you blackmailing me?” Remus asked incredulously as Sirius took another step closer. If Remus reached his arm out, he would be touching Sirius.

“I guess you could call it that. Or you could call it a date. We can go get coffee. You’re paying this time, of course.” Remus couldn’t believe it. And he couldn’t help noticing the ‘this time.’

“Is this you asking me out on a date?!” He scoffed, now shuffling slightly and becoming just a bit closer to Sirius.

“That depends… is it working?”

Remus thought about it for a few moments and then waited for a few seconds, just to take Sirius down a peg or two. “Just. For future reference, blackmailing isn’t the way to go. But we can work on that. Over coffee.”

[I don’t even know what this is but enjoy! Inspired by Rostered On, which you should definitely go watch because it is incredibly. Let me know if you want more of sassy sarcastic arsehole worker Remus because I could do another chapter or two if people wanted it… Who knows!

Please give me love because my life is terrible and I need validation okay thanks bye]

[gothmedia]

Youtube Drama

Okay, everyone’s freaking out over the drama going on youtube, but everyone’s just speaking over each other and completely missing any of the points being made. So, since a little clarity is always appreciated, we’re going to go through each point people are making, their misconceptions, and how they effect the subculture at large. 1. I’m too poor to be goth?    A bunch of babybats have come put of the woodwork as of late saying they can’t afford to be goth. By this they tend to mean, they can’t afford to buy name brands such as Killstar or Punk Rave. They can’t afford to put together extravagant outfits and dress that way every single day. They can’t afford limited edition vintage Bauhaus vinyls or regal black velvet thrones to adorn their bedrooms. But do they really need all that? No. You just have to have an appreciation for the subculture and music. That’s it. You don’t need to buy an entire wardrobe worth more than a car. But this sentiment only goes so far. The older goths can’t reach the ears of the new comers as much and so the worry sets in. Heck, I still worry sometimes if I look “goth enough”. But I’ve been in the subculture for over a decade now and I realize that no matter what anyone says online, I’m still going to enjoy Sisters of Mercy and I’m still going to go to events and try to support the local scene. So what if I don’t have expensive clothes? I’m going to enjoy myself anyway. The subculture doesn’t revolve around Killstar’s marketing and that’s one of the reasons “#gothisnotkillstar” came about. (More on that later in the week!) You don’t need Killstar to be goth. You don’t need Punk Rave to be goth. You don’t need Demonia or Tripp or any of these expensive, fancy outfits to be part of a subculture. You are enough. Sure, seeing others post about their wonderfully spooky lives with their wonderfully spooky possessions on Instagram and Youtube is neat, but you have to remember that NO ONE is that way all day every day. Social media is something people curate and have control over. They’re only showing what they want you to see, but they too have to take a break and become a normal person once the camera is off. 2. DIY or Die.    On the other side of things (Though this argument is more rare than the latter), you get people who are completely rejecting the consumerist approach to goth and are telling people that they need to only ever DIY all their clothes and goth completely rejects a fashion orientation at all. Which is also garbage. Yes, Goth is a music based subculture but it did have a strong style influence right from the get-go. Did it always look the way it does now? No, the style evolved over time into it’s own, highly identifiable self. Do you have to look like this 24/7? No, that’s ridiculous. Like hell I’m going to get dressed in a studded vest and custom chain belt to walk a block to the corner store to pick up Tums when my stomach hurts. I don’t even wash my hair to do that. For such a strong stance against name brand fashion, this group sure likes dictating what people should wear, saying DIY or die. I admit, DIY is pretty fun once you learn how to do it and you do truly get unique clothing and accessories out of it, but it does take time and skill. For a lot of the more intensive projects you need to learn how to sew, dye, paint... Sometimes attempts don’t work out like the time I tried to turn black boots red with a spray-on rubber that ended up cracking off. Sometimes materials like lace or studs or chains are expensive, sometimes you can’t find anything good to work with in thrift stores, and sometimes you’re just really bad at sewing. Not everyone has what it takes to DIY. That, however, shouldn’t turn people away from it. DIY is something that takes time to learn, but the process of doing it is really fun! It’s fun creating new and interesting looks, figuring out how to mess with something to make it your own and you end up with a one-of-a-kind piece all your own. But it’s not necessary. You don’t have to have a completely custom wardrobe just like you don’t have to have Killstar.

3. What any of this has to do with Youtube.    So, what does this have to do with Youtube? Well, think of the most popular goth youtubers. You think of two. They’re pretty and very fancy and do a lot of haul videos with brands like Killstar. Is that a bad thing? Yes and no.They are their own people and these are their channels. They can make videos on whatever they want to and no one really has a say in that. Also, if an expensive clothing company sent me a box of free stuff and said, “You can keep this if you make a video,” I’d probably make a video. Everyone likes free stuff. It’s helpful to see some of these brands on actual people, too. I like the fact that neither of these people are a size small. Almost all marketing for brands such as Punk Rave and Killstar are on extra small models and that just isn’t everyone. I want to see how the dress will look on someone who isn’t model thin because I’m not model thin. If these brands advertised with models in a variety of sizes, shapes, skintones, and disabilities then maybe more people could see themselves in these outfits as well, but as it is they don’t and the only way anyone sees something that looks remotely like themselves will be these try-on hauls. But what happens when that’s the epitome of goth youtube? New-comers to the subculture will think that’s what goth in it’s entirety is. I’ve met a few new goths who are like this and were shocked when I said I didn’t own any Killstar. It creates a mind-frame that to be in the subculture you have to buy this one (frankly overpriced) brand and that’s it.    Is this the fault of BlackFriday and Toxic Tears? Sort-of?They’re considered influencers now. They INFLUENCE the younger generation of goths and they influence how people outside the subculture see goth. Sure, they’re popular, but they’re popular because they’re not only watched by goths but also people into fashion and mainstream viewers. They refuse to do anything outside of fashion to avoid fights about music and the “gothier than thou” crowd, but they fail to realize they’re creating these people themselves. There’s a handful of people in youtube comments who go on the pages of lesser known goth youtubers telling them they need to look extreme to be goth and they cite It’sBlackFriday and Toxic Tears as examples of how a goth should look. They also deride the people who delve deeper than the fashion as elitists, a word that’s simply getting out of hand now. If someone wants to talk about the subculture and it’s music you get tons of little gothlings telling them that they’re gatekeeping the subculture and that you don’t have to listen to goth music to be goth. Then they turn around and gatekeep on what name brand clothes others aren’t wearing which is frankly silly. The subculture is more than clothing and you have to dig a little deeper to find other goth youtubers with more than fashion and hauls on their channels. Speaking of hauls, that’s another point of contention. It’s not only that these name brands are all over youtube now, but that they’re being advertised by people in haul videos. In these videos, the youtuber gets sent a large package of free things from the company and is told that they can keep the items if they make a video on it. Good for them, but the viewers are the ones who will be spending money on these items. Yes, the youtubers say their reviews are non-biased, but they were just sent several EXTREMELY expensive pieces of clothing for free. The dress might be nice, but is it $300 nice? Specifically from Killstar, many of their clothing items are similar to those found elsewhere for much cheaper.   How does this get fixed on the web, then? A solution that makes everyone happy. For one thing, influencer youtubers could do a bit more than fashion. It’sBlackFriday used to do really funny skit videos with Mr. Owl back in the day and they are missed. Toxic Tears had two videos for “What not to say to goth girls” and I’d look forward to a third one. Funny videos about the subculture are sorely wanted because now-a-days we take ourselves WAY too seriously for people who look like rejects from Dracula. If they want to keep the fashion spin, they can talk about the history of the fashion as well. Where did all the circus and cabaret themed stuff from the mid 2000s go? I miss it. They can showcase designers and small businesses within the subculture, not just big name fast fashion companies. Places that make truly unique clothes, places that fit all sizes and shapes. They can point goths in the directions of other youtubers/podcasts/blogs that they might learn from. Simply teaching babybats about goth isn’t an elitist thing to do. The newcomers should WANT to learn more if they actually like the subculture. And overall, they need to space out the haul videos. Not only is it making the impression that one needs a five thousand dollar wardrobe on hand at all times to be goth, but it also makes for a really boring playlist. Toxic Tears has started doing some little DIY stuff which is pretty cute and hopefully It’sBlackFriday will do something or other. Perhaps vlogs about goth festivals? I know she’ll be attending one on the other side of the country soon so that should be interesting. This can be fixed, it just needs a little work and it needs us as viewers to stop having such a stick up the ass about what goth should look like. 4. It’s okay to shop at Walmart.    Or Target. Or any regular store at the mall. In fact, I suggest getting all your basics at super cheap places like these. You shouldn’t be breaking bank on a black t-shirt and jeans. You could also go thrifting. I recently found a blazer that I loved in a thrift store. (They also had a Shrine vest for $20! You never know what you might find.) But never feel bad because you got something from a “mainstream” store. Not only are they good for basics, sometimes you can find pieces to practice DIY on (I did this with a vest from Target.) or sometimes they sell something that just speaks to your aesthetic. (Black lace and fishnet were really in last fall season.) It’s okay if you have normal clothes and aren’t goth all day every day. I have a day job where I wear a yellow polo and kakis and sell churros. Am I less goth? No. Some may claim that not being decked out all the time will make me a weekender, but I’m still running this blog and try to contribute to the subculture. But I have bills to pay. I have a cat to feed. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a bit of freedom of expression just to get by and you can get back in black and fall asleep to Thoushaltnot on the way home on the bus. Just don’t worry about it. You don’t need to DIY everything you own. You don’t need to buy name brand boots. You don’t need to be Instagram ready 24/7. Just enjoy the subculture. And maybe look up some of those other youtubers. Angela Benedict has some great storytime videos on drama not partnering to Killstar.

[riding-alpacas]

Tierra del Fuego

My route through Patagonia leads me from south to north - starting in the southernmost city of the world: Ushuaia. As usual in South America there are some debates if this is really the southernmost city, given that there are a few more towns and villages further south in Chile. Population wise it certainly is one of the bigger southernmost places.

I didn't have the highest expectations when I came here. Ushuaia is clearly a very busy, touristy place in summer. Lots of cruise ships stop here and it is also the starting point for Antarctica expeditions. I considered doing one of those as well, but when I researched the cost and what kind of trip it would be, I backed off. They are ridiculously expensive and pretty much all of them are targeting a more senior audience. If Antartica still exists when I'm 60, I might consider it again at that age.

Closer to Straya than to Canada

On my first day there was only a limited amount of people in the hostel. Well, that's what I thought. It turned out that during the day almost nobody was in the hostel ever. In the mornings and evenings though the place was buzzing. In one of the Backpacker groups on Facebook I found Corinna who also just arrived in Ushuaia and was looking for hiking buddies. During the following days we spent the majority of our time together as we got along really well. It's a shame that we have very different plans for our time after Ushuaia, but we figured that we might meet again in Central America.

The first hike we attempted was the one to Laguna Esmeralda. It gave me a first taste of the landscape so far south on our wonderful planet. If I'd have to describe it with one word it would definitely be rugged. There is something quite harsh but beautiful about the environment here - which makes sense, given that we had hardly more than 15 degrees during the day and it's basically winter down here most of the time. The tree line is super low (500m or so), the brownish colour above it is quite unique and the mountain peaks are just spectacular. And best of all, it's all pretty much untouched.

Felt a bit like Lord of the Rings

The hike itself was a lot of fun but not only due to the beautiful surroundings. It was muddy like hell. Parts of it led through peat bogs which I never hiked through before. First we both tried to avoid getting into the mud as much as possible by doing ridiculous detours (we actually almost got lost on the first 500m in) but for me at least the tolerance limit got lower pretty quick. My boots were waterproof and in my hostel they had boot brush cleaners anyway. Walking through peat bogs was pretty weird at first. They have a spongy, springy texture and no matter how dry they look, once you step on it you basically press out a lot of water. The lake itself was pretty nice. Many of the lakes I saw in Canada had the same blue, milky colour but that doesn't make it any less beautiful. Unfortunately I wasn't super lucky with the weather during the whole week but again: It's still just beautiful being out there in the spectacular outdoors of the Land of Fire.

A little bit of mud

Mystic

Next day was rest day. And rest day usually means checking out town and its museums. The first museum I tried was an old prison that Ushuaia is famous for. They've split it up into multiple sections, grouped by topic. I was very disappointed. Firstly, it was totally overpriced and secondly it was just... random. I expected some sort of golden thread when walking through the different prison cells but it felt just like a random collection of stuff. And it wasn't even good stuff. I was hoping to learn a little bit about the history of Ushuaia, the indigenous people who lived here etc. but it was very underwhelming. On the way to the city I had a quick look at a "museum" about the Islas Malvinas which was a huge flop, too so I almost skipped the last museum I had in mind. But thankfully I didn't because that one was finally a good one. Historia Fueguina tells four storylines that are related to Ushuaia’s history:

The indigenous people

One of the first European expeditions

The prison

An unbelievable rescue story about Ernest Shackleton and the Endurance

You wander from section to section, each one consisting of life-sized historic figures while listening to the story on the free audio guides. Most of the exhibits can be entered and you can pose for pictures. It was quite quirky but very educational and a lot of fun. Spoiler: Most indigenous people are now eradicated because the Europeans brought diseases and bullets when they discovered gold in the area. Same shit, different country.

Almost as comfy as my hostel beds

Next thing I did was a little hike up to the local glacier in town: Glaciar Martial. I did this one by myself because I really wanted to start it early and Corinna didn't want to pay for the taxi. It's very popular and I wanted to avoid the crowds. Surprisingly life generally starts late here, mostly around 10am. For this one I left the hostel at 8 and was on my way up at 8:30. And I am very happy about my decision because I had the whole trek for myself. Initially I felt a bit meh about this hike. Most photos in the web are quite underwhelming and the start of the hike is basically just walking along a ski slope. Luckily one of my room mates told me about some side trails and that the hike generally is actually quite nice. I'm glad I listened to him. At the beginning I walked along a beautiful creek with some of the clearest water on earth. After getting to a little viewing area, I continued up to the actual glacier. It became quite steep here, but it also wasn't a particularly long section. At the top I had a wonderful view of Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel. I found a beautiful section where lots of small streams of water merged and just rested here for about 45 mins to soak in the view and some of the sun when it showed itself for a few seconds.

If I remember correctly this was also the very first time that I was making full use of my layering system. I started with my insulated jacket as it was pretty cold in the morning. Halfway through I added my windbreaker as it became quite windy above the tree line. On the way down it gradually became warmer but it also started raining, so I removed both jackets and changed into my rain jacket. Yes, you truly need a good layering system when in Patagonia.

Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel

More Lord of the Rings

The next day was the highlight of my time in Ushuaia. Corinna, the couple that she shared her Airbnb with and I rented a car and we made our way to the Tierra del Fuego National Park. Corinna and I had a crack at the Cerro Guanaco Trail which literally took our breath away. The hike starts at a glacial lake, then turns into a forrest and climbs up pretty steeply. After a while we reached a little viewpoint before going through some muddy terrain again. With the tree line behind us, we were now in pretty exposed and rugged territory and the trail became extremely steep. But we continued, slowly and steadily until we reached the top and a jaw-dropping view to all sides. We could see Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel in the distance, the glacial lake with some impressive mountains below us, ragged cliffs right next to us. It was just spectacular and very close to what I had in mind when thinking about Patagonia.

Ragged

My favourite view so far

Corinna and I

Beagle Channel

After our return we continued to explore the southern part of the National Park, took some dorky pictures at some touristy signs and returned back to Ushuaia. By the way: If I wouldn't know that the water is freezing cold down here I would just love to jump into all the little lakes and inlets here. The water is crystal clear and when the sun comes out and you actually feel a bit warm it is just too inviting...

The end of the road

Second best thing to do with these water conditions

Jump in!

What stroke us the most during our time down here was the very limited amount of wildlife on land. We saw a couple of brumbies (or whatever they call them here), some birds and a few flies, but that was basically it. No guanacos, no armadillos, not even a bloody worm or ant. I actually digged a little hole at one point to see if there is anything hidden in the soil but there wasn't anything. Corinna and I started building a theory that everything we saw was just fake and we were actually in some sort of TV show. I hope you are all very entertained by now!

The last activity I did was a rather disappointing one. Corinna had now left town and I decided to do a little trip to an island full of penguins and a cruise along the beagle channel on my last day. Little Penguins are quite common in Australia and I already saw a lot of them in Melbourne and on Phillip Island. I was hoping that the species they have here in Ushuaia would be a bit more different, but it turned out that the Magellanic Penguins (by far the biggest group of penguins here) are very, very similar. I also saw Gentoo Penguins and a King Penguin though, which was pretty cool. After spending about an hour on the island and some other random stuff on the way there (trees that were shaped by the wind, a museum about marine mammal skeletons (creepy (especially when they showed us the fresh carcasses (let's just add more brackets because I can)))) we started our cruise. And the cruise was just 100% meh. Towards the end we stopped at the famous lighthouse and at a few rocks with sea lion colonies but I guess I'm just too used to these animals so that in hindsights I'm a little angry with myself spending so much money on that activity.

Looks like it's a bit windy out here

The lady was very excited about skinning this skull

Gentoo Penguins

Spot the king!

Look at this ugly fella

That was my adventure at the end of the world. I started making some good friends and it was a great start to get to know Patagonia. Next up is El Chalten, the hiking capital of Argentina. Apparently they have really bad internet there, so it might get a little quiet here. Apart from that I also managed to get sick (Coronavirus?), so I'll probably have to rest a bit in the next few days.

I might meet Jean (who I met in the hostel) again in Bariloche